


it goes like this (the minor fall, the major lift)。

by aesterismo



Series: it goes like this (the minor fall, the major lift)。 [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 75,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesterismo/pseuds/aesterismo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin is twenty-something-odd when he realizes he hasn’t the slightest idea why he took up leadership of the Scouting Legion as its new Commander in the first place.  The proof, he'll discover in the years to follow, comes in the form of a boy.  </p><p>A boy who – fifteen, fire-eyed, and the first (the only) person Erwin has ever trusted this much - reminds Erwin of what it means to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. never, ever grow up (parents just don't understand)

Some children grow into adults and some adults never grow old.

Erwin knows.

Erwin discovers truth in fiction, and vice-versa, from a young age. 

He learns through encounters while listless and waiting for his mothers’ courtyard parties to be over so he can have the back gardens to himself again with the boys and girls and their brothers and sisters, starstruck and spellbound by his excitable orations on fairytales and folklore, buried in his grandfather’s study for hours some nights while he reads away the silence of a too-quiet home.

He learns through his tutor’s lessons on the ins and outs of tables manners and the fundamentals of mathematics (he’ll need to manage, after all, his own finances) and science (if he’s to oversee the machinations of the Garrison like his father) ringing in his ear all the while as he stares out the window and sighs, sighs, sighs at distant skies and the envisions horizons freer than the avowal of "someday."

He learns through persistence, in experiencing _why_ and _how_ the world around him worked, his father’s weary forbearance and his mother’s irrevocable indulgence when they sweep in from traveling district to district to meet not with contractors or officers but their own son, sitting him down with the vague rules and detached chastisement though parenthood is far from a business contract.

Erwin learns.

Erwin hears, sees – knows – before he can understand.

At five, six, and seven years old, his earliest recollections from his younger days shaped by life and death’s pianissimo waltz around one another. 

His grandparents, their passing quiet and strange and sudden. 

His bedchamber attendants, several chambermaids in a three-month period, the eldest housemaid who nursed him since he was an infant, leaving behind a tiny little girl in her wake who the Smiths took in as their own.

His cousin Edward, two years older and two heads shorter but ever-gracious and free-spirited, an eager playmate for games of chase and hide-and-seek around the backyard, sent for medical care at a private establishment never to return because, skilled as the doctors were in the upper-crust division of the Capital, he was deemed an unfortunate incurable case by the experts of modern medicine. 

Erwin doesn’t understand.

But he learns, accepts it much faster than his peers.

His mother, who walks forward and gives her rousing speeches at social gatherings and diplomat visits, moving mountains with her words yet cannot bring herself to do more than frown and furrow her brow when the man whose surname she has taken on takes her compliance to trust in him for granted.

His father, who walks forward and gives his counsel to those who warrant praise and those who bite their thumbs at him in muted tones when he turns a corner toward a new plan of action but who always tells his son (his imprudent, responsibly irresponsible, ankle-kicking son) that _people will talk more, Erwin, if you let your heart rule over your head_.

His father and mother – despite their grief, their shortcomings, their lapses in judgment in the arrangement of their marriage – who always tell their son, their **only** son, whom they birthed together and guide well-intentioned down a road of inheritance and inquisition, that they cherish and want nothing but the best for him.

It is a life both lived and not lived nearly enough – but Erwin is nothing if not grateful.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps, he will think back on those years much later in life, children never grow old and adults never grow up. 

Their bodies may grow bigger, longer, stronger and then weaker.  

Their minds and their impatience for adulthood grow, but they do not.

**  
**


	2. vantage point (through a child's eyes)

What he remembers in fragmented memories of visiting his father at the Garrison was how small everyone looked from high above the military base.

Not quite a bird’s eye view, not quite a sight for wary eyes. 

But to a much younger Erwin, how small the soldiers who once loomed over him and how insubstantial the guard posts look from there did nothing short of mesmerize him. 

Carted atop his father’s shoulders meant another vantage point and another set of enthusiastic questions.

His many curiosities could not be quelled – an inquisitive boy like Erwin, ordinarily, wouldn’t be allowed on the base, but _Smith is a good man, a good soldier, and I’m sure his son will be no different when he enlists in a few years._  

Erwin knew not to explore past a given point, knew his father would give him a stern scolding if he did.

But he wandered over to watch the men who milled about, a crude seat atop the pile of crates next to the partitioned lunch area, watched how all the people who passed by gave him indulgent smiles and pats on the head and wondered why this view seemed far better than the bird’s eye view.

Maybe it was their varying heights, the unlike crests on their jackets and capes, the vibrancy and the roughness of their faces.

From a bird’s eye view, Erwin couldn’t see these things at all, not as clearly or as cleanly as he saw them at eight years old.

Maybe it was the swing to their voices, the thrill that ran down his spine once, thrice, as he listened to murmured tales of what peacetime in the Old World was like through foreign parties and folklore from the outer districts, his nine year old self no less enthralled with the world he saw behind eyes slammed shut.

As he burrowed farther back into the space between tent and box throne, Erwin closed his eyes, and tried to imagine with his ten year old naivety a better world as described by the supposed heretics.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it was because at ten, eleven, and twelve, he couldn’t see past the limits of his senses, past the path his father laid out in front of him – past the click and whirr of miniature gears locked into place as one day melded into another.

 

 


	3. brother, my brother

Its hands stop and stall more often than he can make it to a repair shop now that he's older, but Erwin could never bear to part with that old pocketwatch.

Unreliable as it is, he simply can't imagine tossing it away.

It was, after all, the last birthday gift he ever received from his older brother.

The last birthday his brother ever spent at home before Erwin left home for enlistment. 

It was a gift, treasured and true – and a rather expensive gift, at that. 

Emmett came from wherever it was his parents ostracized and bade him to flee and find refuge, visiting under the guise of “just stopping by” to give it to Erwin.

This, too, he does not understand.

 _Why come back_ , Erwin wondered, _just to see your little brother off?_

 _Why come back_ , Erwin wondered, _when Father and Mother refuse to accept your engagement with Sonia because she wasn’t born into some illustrious and industrious family?_

( _Why come back_ , Erwin would wonder for years to come, _to a family who, aside from me, never considered you family after you eloped?_ )

But twelve years old and nothing short of naïve, Erwin hadn’t been able to say anything, let alone anything about the present.

He never spoke a word, struck mute by the taut silence and tense civility his mother and father spoke to Emmett with – though he didn’t like it, certainly, no more than he liked seeing self-depreciating smiles that flickered and faded just before his older brother turned to leave – and to this day, he regrets not taking that last chance to thank him.

Etched faint into the inside cover is a message in German, one that Erwin carries with him on each and every expedition outside the Walls.

 

_You may forget where you came from,_

_You may forget where you have roamed,_

_But never ever forget the people you’ve met along the way_.

 

* * *

 

It was a motto to live by, if nothing else, for the sake of all unknown prospects (for all the people, known and unmet) buried and long gone.


	4. on the construct of gender and expectations in dual measure

‘Boys will be boys’ is a phrase he will never understand.

There is no equivalent or equitable statement for girls. 

Why is that, he asks one day, that girls can’t be girls? 

Is it that girls are not allowed to be girls? 

Are girls not allowed to be girls on any given occasion or has there just not been a designated, unwritten rule made for girls yet?

Or are boys only boys while they are being rambunctious or unruly or covered with contradictions, allowed to run about the yard until a certain age when they’re deemed “young men” on the cusp of maturity?

Erwin doesn’t understand. 

He says as much, points it out to his father – but his father does not understand him, either. 

His father does not understand, thinks it’s the fault of _those Lower Sina kids_ who corrode his brain with _unconventional ideas_.

Erwin doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t want his father to think him a firestarter, least of all accuse him of being insolent, not when he was merely asking a simple question.

But he yells, repeats himself, to let his father know he isn't being blackmailed or bullied into trying to barter away Smith family heirlooms – or any of their hard-earned funds, for that matter, locked away in the safe which he’s known about the location of and the combination thereof since he was old enough to walk.

But he yells, raises his voice to his father for the first time in his life, not at all able to hold his tongue (not like he let himself with Emmett, who was now, _much as you say it was no one’s fault but his own,_ _if he hadn’t been under such distress, if he hadn’t been traveling with Sonia while the bridge leading to the Outer Walls was iced over, then maybe, just maybe, he’d still be alive—!_ ) until he’s bit down on it hard enough to bleed when a fresh bruise blooms over his cheekbone, the price paid for talking back.

But he yells, thinks of Cera and Cecil and Cole and the rest of the street theater troupe children who directed him back to the main marketplace when his penchant for wandering led him to the edge of the red-light district, thinks of their flagrant and fearless smiles when he asks if the elegant and ephemeral Cera is a male or a female and how the answer received ( _Isn’t gender just what society dictates as our identities as, not who we feel we are as human beings from the inside-out?_ ) garners a nod of approval and the promise to refer to Cera as ‘they’ when he speaks of them.

 

* * *

 

(He only falls silent once he sees how flummoxed and how straight the line of his father’s solemn mouth is, how flummoxed **he** feels, when his father exhales through his nose as the growing fissure in the crumbling illusion of filial obligation and seethes—

_You can use the Smith family name as you’d like when you enlist, but no son of mine deserves to carry that name proudly when he’s out gallivanting with heretics and street rats under my roof._

After that, it isn't his shoulders or his clenched fists that tremble but his vision that wavers with tears – the first and last time he’s ever cried like a ‘boy’ never should in front of his father.)

 

* * *

 

The day he turns fifteen is not an unlucky one, because as soon as his name joins the burgeoning list of army recruits, he’s almost relieved to leave behind the dredges of his lukewarm youth, feathers scattered on the floor of a metal cage once locked tight.

 


	5. (all your life) you were only waiting for this moment to arrive

Wings, he thinks three years later, were not what he needed at all.

He wanted them once, back at a time when he was foolish enough to believe flight rather than fight could solve his problems. 

Perhaps when he was a trainee, gathering the materials to construct his future and fortify the rationale of his decision, but no longer. 

Perhaps prior to realizing, to learning, that he wants no part in the happenings within the Capital, knowing of their treachery and their corruption like nothing else from what he’s witnessed and what he’s surmised over the years, but no longer.

Perhaps they aren’t wrong, just afraid of anything that warrants more pain and discomfort than a thorned stalk’s prick – but that’s why he wants no part in these things, wants no part in their court games and notable lack of written proof of finances, any longer.

No longer, he decides, homesick for the idea of home rather than the vacancy of the Smiths’ sprawling estate, for the ideals he once chased as a child, not once daring to look back.

No longer, he decides, carrying filled buckets with his peers as his own variation on endurance training, most of them younger but no less emboldened by purpose following close behind, wrapped by the presence of something like a family, like conscious companionship craved and conquered.

No longer, he decides, draws up his own wings, threadbare, not when he has a purpose here, a higher goal, dreams of a higher world that deserves better of the monsters within and outside the Walls, starting with the Titans that plagued Humanity so.

He has higher places to scale than the length of any Wall, than any mountaintop dreamed up after countless stories, and he’ll write and rewrite his plans as many times as it takes to get it right.

 

* * *

 

No longer, he decides, relinquishing his hold on the steadying tree trunk to propel his body forward just as his equilibrium shifts – and he’s flying, on the tailwinds of three years in training and on the cusp of graduation as he dreams of the pledge he knows all too well and believes, _believes_ , in a path driven in three-dimensional maneuver gear and revivals in lost opportunities.

 


	6. one, two, three (steps later)

Squad Leader Smith sounds far too formal, a mouthful all its own.

But considering the alternative.

“Commander Smith”? 

 _No_ , his chest and his nerve endings freeze at the very suggestion made by his faithful members, _even if they asked me to,_ _I couldn’t take on a position like that_.

The title would weigh far heavier than his Legion cape and his gear on the rainiest of expeditions, laden with the hushed brays of nepotism, with the constant hovering dread of losing good men and women to the hinged jaws of behemoths, with the fear of inadequacy present not because of his father’s noteworthy name as _the best damn candidate we’ve ever had join the force_ , words that Commander Shadis in his booming voice at his visible hesitation, but because he’s afraid himself. 

It’s too heavy a weight, he rationalizes, for someone like him to carry.

“You’ve got the biggest and broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen,” Commander Shadis crows, claps his hand to his back to demonstrate.  “And all the balls the leader of the Legion needs to take the reins.”

“T-Thank you, sir,” Erwin says, too stunned for less than humble fronts. 

“Well,” Shadis sees him to the office door, geniality that belies the solemnity of his next words, “if nothing else, consider it until we head off next week for the Reclamation Operation…and come back to see me after it’s over when you’ve found your answer, yes or no.”

Too flattered to offer anything more substantial – he’ll consider it, perhaps, the night before – Erwin nods and thanks his superior officer once more.

He’s sure that when the time comes, he will decline outright, will turn heel and continue working with his trainee friends turned comrades, and that will be all.

 

* * *

 

(But what Erwin does not anticipate, could never predict, is for their long-awaited retrieval efforts to ricochet so wildly that the bullets are never found, let alone leave a trace of anything more than smoke, mirrors, and a reverberation ringing clear to soldiers and higher-ups and all who care to listen:

 _We’ve failed._ )

 

* * *

 

He does never gets to tell Shadis that he’s changed his mind, either.

He realizes it too late what fear feels like, down to writhing flesh and heads held in their gargantuan grip ‘till they’re crushed, cremated, down to bone and blood and looming lunging skulking beasts of hunters that scurry after them, scurry after him in nightmares for years to come, and he wants to change that, he wants **change** like nothing else, and no other position can grant that wish.

But by the time he’s made up his mind, he finds the Commander’s office vacant and a resignation letter sitting on a cleared desk.

Alongside his letter is a note.  

Addressed to Erwin Smith, devoid of anything aside from three words, it reads:

 _Don’t give up_.

(Even after Shadis takes over instructing the Trainee Squads, Erwin cannot bring himself to say that final thank-you when he knows, somewhere deep down, Shadis knew from the start that he had made the right choice.)

 


	7. looking back (where did all the time go?)

Erwin is twenty-something-odd when he realizes he hasn’t the slightest idea why he took up leadership of the Scouting Legion as its new Commander in the first place.

The high praise and veneration left in unmistakable penmanship by Shadis (should they deem him a man on indefinite hiatus? MIA? The Military Police can’t find him any sooner than his own family, but, then again, Erwin supposes they never will find a man who does not wish to be found) certainly didn’t hurt. 

His top scores on the practical exams from graduation to the time he began training as a scout didn’t hurt, either, though he’s convinced the real reason Squad Leader Smith was promoted had little to do with his grades and work ethic and far more to do with the power of status.

But why carry on this path? 

Why fight for the greater good when little good exists in a world battered by cattlelike collectivism and credence, for a steadily growing population, in nonexistent deities?

Why _here_ , of all places, where Erwin swore he would never be?

The answers do not come in that year or in the next, but he is glad nonetheless for some things.

Because all charges toward the legitimacy of his ascension aside, Erwin finds his new office and new living quarters far more comfortable as he discovers.

It is rather nice, he must admit, despite the initial adjustment to a busier time schedule. 

His squadmates, especially, offer no complaints to their new elevated quarters or his new office.

Especially not Mike, who takes to the smell of crisp lamination and the just-refurbished wooden desk and the changes in Erwin’s own, as he defines it, ubiquitous scent (“ _Does my nose deceive me or have you started wearing cologne, Commander?”_ _“I’m glad to know your senses are as keen and impeccable as always, Mike.”_ ) and accompanies him to the farthest tavern they know for drinks on the weekend more than ever.

Especially not Zoë, who is no less than overzealous when finding out _there’s enough in the budget for an actual lab – a **lab** , Erwin! _and he finds he can’t keep a fond smile down from watching Zoë retrieve the next stack of paperwork with renewed enthusiasm at the promise that, yes, he’ll do his best to keep them in the King’s good graces so he can secure a proper research facility for their newly dubbed Headquarters, much as he intends to prove he’s earned his keep in this position.

When he lapses into self-doubt, the two he’s known since his trainee days (friends, he realizes, for whom he would gladly give up his life and livelihood) are especially crucial in bringing him back and return to focusing on what Commander Smith needs to do next.

 

* * *

 

There’s always something needed to be done, needed to be done next, and along with forestalled events emerges the afterthought of _I should send a letter back home soon_ , he feels the sting of a word he hasn’t uttered since he joined the army.

 


	8. and when we meet (all i was then will be there still)

Years of practice in hand-to-hand combat and fencing and basic martial arts instruction taught Erwin something far more useful, something that served him well years ago on the cusp of teenagehood during his visits to Lower Sina: nothing, absolutely nothing, can keep a good pickpocket from catching you unaware.

That’s how he ended up here, in fact.

Well, technically not here in Sina’s slums.

That part was unprecedented, a job thrust upon him because no one else wanted to do it.

Regardless, here he goes, running after the bandit barreling through backstreets and bounding over bazaar stands with Erwin in vicious pursuit, Legion crest a forgotten flutter of gray-blue blur behind him compared to the importance of the solid silver pocketwatch stolen from him.

Unsurprising for someone used to the alleys and corner-turning here, this crook is _fast_. 

Stalwart and well-trained for endurance runs as Erwin (once) was, he’s running out of breath to the spasm of lactic acid buildup. 

Almost stops, in mid-stride, when the pain paints his face flush and sets his feet aflame.

But, _no_ , Erwin thinks, immediately picking up his pace instead.

He won’t lose sight of this man, he thinks, continues trailing him despite the search for respiration.

He can’t lose sight of this man, he thinks, contemplates how to corner him and when it’s best to attack.

He can’t lose sight of this man; he refuses, not when he remembers what Emmett told him, how _every encounter is unforgettable, Erwin, something to be cherished and held dear, whether it’s under circumstances good or bad_ —

Just before he lunges, the bandit smashes headlong into someone else, sent him reeling to the ground at the solid (though staggering) force of impact, landing along with the pocketwatch in a dazed heap at Erwin’s feet.

Erwin reaches down to reclaim what’s his.

A quicker hand snatches it away – and, with it, his short-lived relief.

“I believe,” Erwin manages to wheeze out, having just regained composure after that drawn-out chase, “that watch belongs to me, boy.”

As far as he can tell, the dark-haired youth dressed in a frayed dress shirt a half-size larger than needed and worn-out jeans, whose mouth seems curled into a perpetual hard line, is a boy. 

A boy in stature, his bird-boned and willowy figure poised to pounce at a centimeter’s misstep. 

Yet for as small as he is, this boy has eyes far wilder, far more wizened, than any man Erwin’s ever encountered.

“This asshole,” the shorter male gestures to the thief sprawled out on the cobblestone before delivering a kick so hard his target coughs blood, “owes me one, though.  I’d been on the lookout for him, but you led him right to me.  Congratulations.”   

“Not to mention,” he deadpans, dangling it by the rusted chain before a brief toss-catch motion lands it safely in his hand, “this pretty little trinket hardly seems your style,” a derisive, crooked start of a smile, “old man.”

Never in all his years as a trainee or a scout – not even when Nile’s thrown his worst bait, speaking ill of Zoë and Mike a surefire way to make the older man grit his teeth – has Erwin ever been quick to anger.

There’s no anger to what he does here, either.

There’s no anger in how Erwin pushes him back-first at the initial pull, no anger as pins him with practiced ease, face shoved into the granite wall, no anger in reaction to the valiant effort given as this audacious boy gnashes and snarls – tries to bite him, too, when he makes to restrain his wrists – while attempting to turn the tables.

There’s no anger, only a sense of exacting self-satisfying judgment and discipline on this boy who looked down on him despite being two heads shorter, because Erwin knows as he towers over him that no Commander – who’s dealt his fair share of blows in cafeteria scuffles and street bouts and barstool fights, who knows how to intimidate and keep his opponent at arm’s length – would ever let this end in anything but a stalemate.

There’s no anger to what Commander Smith does, so it follows that Erwin should be the same when he slips out of his identity and apprehends thugs on the streets of Lower Sina.

“More important than repaying old debts,” Erwin says, congenial as always, his grasp on the other’s clenched fist wound tight around his pocketwatch trapped inside, “I’d say you need to take care not to make assumptions about a stranger’s age.”

“Look who’s talking,” the boy retorts, defiance just as unbending.  “And for your information, I’m fifteen, Legion dog.  No matter how ridiculously tall you are, we know which of us is getting up there in age more.”

Neither speak, unyielding stares locked in tacit conversation, no further movement from either party fiercely entangled.

 _He’s a learned boy_ , Erwin thinks dimly, _to know what this motif represents._

“And for **your** information,” he feels, suddenly, the fatigue from all that transpired returning, but does not loosen his hold on his captive’s immobilized arms, does not coax him closer as he goes on, “you’re speaking to the one who rounds up the ‘dogs’ to take a bite out of the Titans.  Erwin Smith, 13 th Commander of the Scouting Legion.”

The tension in the boy’s shoulders goes slack at his official title.

“Well, then while I’m speaking to the oh-so-illustrious Commander Smith of the Legion,” Erwin watches the telltale twitch of his lips he saw on the younger one’s face become a crooked smile, “you’ll want a name to call your latest conquest by, I presume?”

“A name,” Erwin echoes, “would be much appreciated.”

Swifter than any trainee vying for his rivalry, bolder than any Abnormal would dare to be, Erwin takes a sudden tumble backwards and finds himself at the perfect position to cloud-watch – except there are no clouds to be found but puerile blue and sharp gray that glint and darken like a simmering flame – while the boy peers down at him, the light thud of his pocketwatch landing on his chest joined by the hovering heel of a boot.

He’s lost contests throughout his years, sure, but Erwin has never been knocked off his feet.

Not like this.

“Levi.” 

Despite this encounter, this brawl, ending far too soon for Erwin’s liking, he finds that it isn’t enervation from their scrimmage or the knowledge he’s finally met his match that steals his breath away. 

A name. 

He has a name.

Levi, the corporeal form of a boy with the spirited brazenness of a man struggling to survive, is his name.

“Consider that,” Levi’s voice soars overhead, distant as the avian creatures on a wing high above, “my debt repaid.  For calling you an ‘old man’ before.”

 

* * *

 

His boot retracts.

The sun in the midday sky glows brighter than ever.

And – by the time Erwin remembers how to let his heart beat again and turns his head to look left for him – Levi is gone.

 


	9. so i'll let it pass (and hold my tongue)

They do not meet again until spring submits to summer and the deciduous trees lose their autumn hues.

This year, the snow wasn’t the only thing to have swept and shattered their defenses.  

With the Wall Reconstruction projects recommencing, Erwin found himself busier than ever to the point where he wouldn’t even see Zoë or Mike for days.

(He would, however, occasionally find coffee waiting for him when he gets back to his office, brewed extra-dark.

Or research notes, thorough as they are placed in systematic order, marked by dog-eared corners and bookmarked pages piled high. 

He appreciates it, appreciated _them_ , takes and savors these mementos into the early morning hours when he blesses their names while poring through report after report, file after file.

Until his eyelids – and face – drop to the surface of his desk, he thanks them.

Until he wakes well into the afternoon with a crease in his cheek and a curse for all the department heads who thought to leave all the paperwork up to the Crucified Commander, he thanks them.)

Meetings precede court hearings and proceedings follow weeks upon weeks of wary reconstruction plans.

But, with all due respect to Major Pixis and Commanding Officer Dawk, he doesn’t understand why he’s being thanked.  He has every intention of assisting them in their endeavors for the sake of humankind, though he’s well aware these matters are not his division.

Though it’s better to describe it as a division _distinctly separate from the rest of the army as representing Humanity’s Last Hope against the Titans_ , as per the caption below the Scouting Legion’s plaque hung on the wall of the King’s throne room.

Though it’s better still to describe how he deems the situation at large to be trying. 

Vexing. 

Disturbing, in all honesty, given how many lives have already been lost and how little these rich pigs who call themselves noblemen seem not to care.

Though, better put, he feels nothing short of **exhausted** , listening to the aristocrats and Wall Cultists go back and forth and back and forth with one another, getting nowhere fast.

They have so much money, he thinks, so much of it they could drown in a viscous vat of it and still find new ways to conjure up a surplus of funds in their bank accounts.

If he weren’t disenfranchised from his own family, he would slip into the cellar and go through the passageways that lead to the safes holding his inheritance – if it hadn’t been transferred elsewhere – and offer up the rest of his livelihood to the betterment of those who deserve it.

 

* * *

 

But, no, perhaps it’s for the best that he doesn’t.

After all, he can’t imagine his father or mother would have kept that money put aside, not when he’s a responsible self-sufficient adult who’s nothing more than a commonplace associate to them now. 

Besides, if that money were to fall into the wrong hands, all his hard work would be for naught.

 

* * *

 

At least, here in Lower Sina, not much has changed.

Aside from the frost and snow piles on the pavement, he knows this part of town like the lines on his own palms.

He knows this place, a frequent meeting spot where, when he was a young boy, he would find Cera and Cecil and Cole and cast his Father’s ambitions and Mother’s hopes for him away for a few hours in favor of clever and cultured conversations, far more eye-opening than the little talks over tea and refreshments at the estate dinner parties.

He knows this place, where he snuck out after curfew during his trainee days just to watch the fireworks on the hill after the festivities hosted by the carnival finished and the locals scattered throughout the district and Cera’s fingers laced with his, tentative, before they grant him _a kiss_ , the whisper tracing over the open cleft of his mouth, _for my golden boy who deserves all the world has to offer_ , a wish abruptly ended when – at morning’s light – their troupe would have to leave for _somewhere far away from here, perhaps beyond the Walls, living where the wild things are_ never to return.

He knows these places, missed the lights and the smells and the signs of life that drum through the district like a symphonious chords played in minor harmonies, in faded signs and blending with the locals, in transitory meetings that he carries in the back of his mind, back in the same place where his guilt and his ghosts retreat every sleepless night at the voices, the _voices_ , that drag him back into the fog as the sun eludes him again and again and again—

“Hey, Old Man.  Not wearing your fancy cape and uniform today?”

Erwin whirls around, blinks fast at the near whiplash the abrupt movement gives his sore neck muscles.

“You’re rather underdressed yourself,” Erwin chides, “Levi.” 

“These are my street clothes,”  Dressed in a jacket several sizes too large for him (stolen from someone or exchanged through negotiation, he can’t be sure – but it fits him, even if it highlights how thin the younger man is), Levi walks right up to him once he’s emerged from a cornerside bakery.  “Erwin, right?”

He’s surprised, to say the least.  

“A touch more casual than I’m used to, but…yes.  That is my name.”

“Then deal with it.”  Ah, there it was – an amused little quirk at the corner of his mouth, humored but not dishonest.  “You keep calling me Levi, so it’s only fair.”

“Fair enough,” Erwin can’t help but laugh, following after Levi when he hears no resounding protests.   

 


	10. waiting (for this moment)

It’s been an entire season since they last crossed paths. 

Levi’s hair’s gotten longer, he notes, in the last month. Long bangs frame his face to the point where they obscure his face as he walks, though they don’t seem to deter his momentum. 

If it’s not his imagination playing tricks on him, Levi’s grown a bit taller, too.

Just a bit, he notes, almost says as much to tease the sullen teen until he catches the tail end of a question.

“…or what?”

Erwin blinks fast. 

“I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere.  Did you just ask me something?”

“I said,” Levi huffs, wrenching off his fur-lined hood and motioning at the corroded door of the high-rise in front of them, “are you coming in or what?”

In.  Inside.  Was this his—

“Ah.  And here I assumed,” the taller man chuckles, “that was your plan all along.”

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions,” Levi sneers.  “Don’t make an ass out of me and you, old man.”

The condominium serves as living quarters for over fifty other occupants.  Levi lives on the top floor, but it isn’t the stairs that creak at every step or the derelict state of the suites that amaze him.

How comparatively _clean_ the inside of Levi’s suite, however, leaves him flabbergasted.

Other than a sofa, a few choice appliances, and a table covered in miscellany, Levi’s apartment is well-stocked, boxes upon boxes lining the walls around them. 

It’s cramped, and – despite the fussing murmurs about needing to “tidy up again,” Erwin finds a home like this a modern wonder, if not threadbare and (he shivers, suddenly, almost picking up the coat he’s laid on a hook by the front door again) in terrible need of better insulation. 

But it’s not unclean, it’s not anything like he imagines, and it’s a place to live. 

It was where Levi lived. 

“How long,” something curious roused within him, puzzling as the languid offer of day-old biscuits handed off to him, he waits until Levi plops down on the couch beside him to ask, “have you been living here?”

One eyebrow raised, then his features revert to their usual cynicism.  “You mean in this shithole or the slums?”

“Both,” Erwin decides, reaching hesitant for a stacked house of cards while his eyes wander to the pocketknives collecting dust at a corner of the coffee table, “if you aren’t adverse to sharing.”

Silence. 

Levi seems to mull it over, more introspective than incredulous, while Erwin contemplates his current situation, more cautious than his initial meeting when he considers where his thirst for knowledge has led him.

“As long as I can remember,” is Levi’s slow admission, the first time Erwin’s ever heard him sound anything but self-assured, “having this name.”

The Commander notices then that Levi’s eyes haven’t left his face since they sat down.

“So ‘Levi’ is a name you were given,” Erwin wants clarification, if nothing else, “not your given name at birth.”

“Everyone who works in the Underground gets a name assigned to them.”  It’s difficult to tell sometimes, he knows, who works for the mafia and who’s just given a label to join along for the ride.  “Granted, I’m sort of a special case.”

“Should I assume by a ‘special case,’” Erwin’s mind conjures image upon image of Levi – dressed in a clean-pressed suit, warehouse rendezvous with guns and drugs and everything in between, throwing down his briefcase in favor of wrestling and wringing several henchmen’s necks with his legs alone – as he tries to understand, “you mean—”

“Found abandoned on the streets as a child and ended up becoming the Underworld’s Child?”  There’s a burn to Levi’s stare but no unpleasantness to his cadence, nothing but acceptance.  “If that’s what you were going to say, then yeah.”

 

* * *

 

What he meant, what it all meant, it took until hearing that title for Erwin to figure it out.

The reason why Levi had been tracking down the man that day, intimidated to slipping away as soon as Levi began talking with Erwin instead.

The reason why Levi’s humble abode was like this, no matter if it was on this end of town or closer to the border leading toward the middle-class sector of Sina, and filled with such a myriad of objects.

The second-highest ranked criminal on the government’s most wanted list – a renowned courier who passed along messages to each of the kingpins in each of the district slum areas – whose mentioned alias could send the bravest of men jumping headlong into the battle’s fray, if not into the ruins of what were the former Walls.

The Underground Crow, a child rumored to have hailed from royalty but whose true name was long lost and burned asunder.

 


	11. into the light of the cold, black night

The atmosphere changes, then, trepidation visible on their faces. 

What levity existed before this is long gone.

Erwin knows now. 

He _knows_.

“You do realize,” Erwin’s voice quakes, the magnitude of what secrets have just been imparted upon him heavier than any title of Commander or any burden of countless deaths, “that I could have you put in prison if I wanted to.”

“If you wanted to.” 

His stomach drops. 

He can’t look at Levi, can’t bear to think this person he’s nearly befriended is an outlaw, and he prepares himself to reach for one of those pocketknives – if, and he hopes it won’t, it comes to that. 

“You could.”  A flat tone, matter-of-fact.  “I know that.”

“Then why,” Erwin’s throat constricts at the taunting thought of _more blood on these hands, Erwin, is a small price to pay for the sake of Humanity_ , “did you let me follow you here?”

Levi moves, then, leaning over Erwin as he reaches out a hand ever so slowly (he’s faced down men far more menacing, chased down Titans far more menacing, so why is he afraid; why can’t he move away; why can’t he just turn the tables like he had last time, turn over the table adjacent to where they’re sitting and just—) to place it almost gingerly on the clasp at his right shoulder.

“I figured,” he could be held by the collar, held by the throat any second, until he hears what Levi says next, “if you wanted to kill me, you’d have already done it by now.”

Despite the brevity in the air, despite the direness of their situation, Erwin starts to laugh.

He laughs.

He laughs.

Soon enough, to his surprise, Levi starts to laugh with him – quiet sniggers at first but soon booming and blossoming into the loudest – and then rings out the most childlike laugh he’s heard since he was a child.

And, as he slumps against Erwin’s chest in a fit of hysterics, the Commander realizes.

There are no threats to his livelihood or his life.

If Levi was going to kill him, **he** would have done it already.

He feels safe here, seeing no murderous glint or vicious intent to Levi’s eyes, safer than he’s felt since leaving home at fifteen. 

“What the hell,” Levi croaks after they’ve been exchanging half-hearted punches to one another’s arms and failing at suppressing their chortles.  “You seriously thought I was gonna kill you or what?”

“Of course not.”  Erwin, feeling as light on his feet as he does after half a keg of alcohol at the local dive, nearly shoves Levi off the couch with a shove of his elbow.  “But you do have this look about you like you could kill a man twice my size, if not a Titan, all by yourself.”

There’s a disquieting silence that takes over, then, as Levi’s expression changes.

“If I told you I’ve killed plenty of men,” that frown morphs into a grimace, “would you trust me any less?”

When he shakes his head, Levi’s eyes – too cold and too jaded and too cautious – are wide and strangely bright.

“You trusted me with your life.  I trust you with mine.”  It sounds so frank that it sounds like a lie even to him, but Erwin knows the difference between deception and dependence, knows that convincing Levi is far easier than convincing himself.  “It’s as simple as that.” 

“Simple,” Levi turns away, tuts as he ruminates over the implicit offer.  “And why they hell would the high and mighty Commander Smith want to put his trust in a criminal?”

The epiphany is no stranger, Erwin finds, than their odd acquaintanceship.

“Because I think you’d make an excellent soldier,” Erwin tells him, “and an even better scout.”

 

* * *

 

Erwin finds himself kicked right out of the apartment after that.

He can’t bring himself to do anything but laugh into the midwinter’s night, though, once he’s left the building, and – moreover – thinking back to the positively panicked (but hopeful) look on Levi’s face when he told him as much.

If Levi thinks him a fool for trying to enlist him, so be it. 

If Levi thinks him unworthy of another day’s conversation, so be it.

(“I don’t take orders from anyone,” Levi ground out, response joined by the rattling slam of the apartment door in his face, “and the only way I live, as the Underground Crow or otherwise, is for myself.”)

But messenger of the Underground or not, something about Levi fascinates him – and he’s determined, _determined_ , to convince Levi the next time they cross paths. 

 

* * *

 

And they will meet again, Erwin thinks, warm in spite of the bitter cold outside, crossing over the bridge leading into Middle Sina as a pocketwatch and a pocketknife rest in his pocket.

He’s sure of it.

 


	12. he's a message (i'm the runner)

At first, he thinks it’s a shadow.

Nothing more than a shadow, he reasons, continuing in orienting the Squad Leaders who will be joining their newest batch of scouts in the next expedition.

Of course, he’s almost sure he’s deluding himself, but he has financial meetings to attend, here and in the Capital today, so this terrible attempt at espionage will have to wait.

They’re the same one who’s been trailing him since the late winter winds picked up, warmer than ever, and packed their unearthly chill away.  To the ends of the financial district, from the Headquarters to the Castle and back again. 

He knows the owner of such eyes, sharp and surreptitious and shining with catlike curiosity.

(But, ah, what was it again?  That old adage about youth?  That it’s as good as gone before you know it?   

An adage like that seems most appropriate in this scenario, where the cat has become the mouse and the cat is— well. 

He's amused, if nothing else, that Levi’s turned this into a game Erwin knows he’ll win.)

Mike is the first to notice, smells the presence of someone following them on their way back to his office for a short coffee break, but Zoë is the first to point it out.

“Don’t tell me,” Zoë breathes, scandalized, “you’ve got a secret admirer!”

“‘Stalker’ seems more appropriate,” Mike sniffs over his shoulder at the hooded figure tailing them.  “Unless that’s what you’ve been into these days, Erwin.”

“I assure you,” Erwin gives Mike and Zoë firm pats to their shoulders as reassurance, “there’s no jealous lovers and that I’m perfectly safe from any interlopers out on the prowl tonight.”

All that said, it did give him quite a fright to find out he was being followed around.  At first.

His ‘stalker’ was, however, a blessing in disguise.  

Any legitimate threats, minimal in the form of persistent lobbyists or harmful in the form of armed assailants, would leave after he’s dealt with them along with the pair of eyes once they left the premises.  He’s even gotten a couple of apologies from said characters, in written form and in person. 

Erwin’s never gotten apologies from anyone since becoming Commander, let alone from muggers trying to kill him or activists petitioning against the Legion’s cause. 

So when he opens the door to his office, he should be grateful that Levi has at last decided to reveal himself after weeks of sneaking around and about.

He’s not quite as grateful, however, for the foaming puddles on the floor. 

Or the fact that Levi has procured a cleaning uniform from the supply shed out behind the grounds along with a mop, bucket, and sponge.

Or the fact that Mike _and_ Zoë are beaming the instant the door swings open and Levi picks himself off his hands and knees to remove his provisional mask: a kerchief tied around his nose and mouth.

“I didn’t know,” Zoë all but leers, “you were into younger men, Erwin.”

“The way you said that,” Mike, for his part, does flinch at the downright venomous glare Levi gives Zoë and then **him** in turn, “makes me wonder about your interests, too, Zoë.”

“I’m only interested in Titans, dear Mike.”  Of course, Erwin thinks as palm meets forehead, of _course_.  “And this shorty is definitely not—”

In the end, Erwin has to keep Levi from tossing the bucket at Zoë’s face.

 


	13. let it be(gin)

“So you wanted to thank me,” Erwin begins, less an inquiry and more confirmation once explanations and pleasantries are exchanged, “for not informing the authorities.”

“And to get my knife back.”  Levi doesn’t deny the first claim, however, sitting at one corner of his desk while Zoë continues studying him over her spectacles from the other.  “My favorite pocketknife, might I add.”

“I apologize for that.”  Then, almost indulgent, “But since you trusted me with your life, I can’t imagine it’d be much more of a stretch to trust me with your favorite pocketknife.”

“My pocketknife.”

“Yes.  Your,” he adds emphasis on the word, ever amicable, “pocketknife.”

If Levi were a feline, Erwin wouldn’t be surprised if he started hissing at him.

“You piece of shit,” Levi says, but he’s got a half-delirious quirk to his lips like he’s finding the whole affair impossibly funny.  “That’s why you left it out on the dresser while you slept.  You were testing me, trying to bait me into showing up—”

“—and wring my neck while I slept,” Erwin supplies, to the background noises of Zoë's alarmed sputters.  “I'm aware of all that, yes.  I wouldn’t call it baiting exactly, but you’ve got the right idea.”

“And what if I did?” 

Levi hops off the desk to come around the other side, wrenching him down by his bolo tie and none too gently tugging the taller man down to eye level.  They’re dangerously close, despite their significant height difference, and if Levi were to steal back his pocketknife from his pocket, awkward angle or not, he could do it.  He would do it. 

Nothing Erwin could say or do would stop him. 

“You know I could do it.  Any time I wanted to, any time you let your guard down.” 

Close as their faces were to one another, he catches flecks of blue and gold reflected in the light of the younger man’s eyes, thinks it’s a hallucination.

Until he realizes that’s _his_ eyes in a mirrored image. 

“So my question to you is: why?  Why bait me?  Why give me the blatant temptation…Erwin?”

Before Mike has a chance to leap off the loveseat, before Zoë can vocalize anything but a stifled shout, Erwin raises a single hand—

—and places it on the crown of Levi’s hair.

“I figured,” he feels the hands at his collar loosen, a punctuated sound not unlike a gasp in the back of the boy’s throat muted, until Erwin says, “if you wanted to kill me, you’d have already done it by now…Levi.”

Mike looks at Zoë, disconcerted, but his distress dissolves once Levi’s hands drop, glad to know the situation was not beyond repair, after all.

Zoë looks from Levi (who seems to find the tattered sleeve of his cleaning uniform sleeve, all at once, incredibly interesting) to Erwin, and anxiousness gives way to a hand held out, a sheepish apology, to Levi.

“There’s some time left until I have to meet the Court Marshall at the Inner District,” Erwin chimes, breaking the taut celebratory silence, the light ruffle of the boy’s dark hair near affectionate.  “We’ll finish cleaning up the place together and, when I get back, we can talk about enlistment—”

“I’m not,” Levi fumes, “joining the Legion.”

“Not even if it means,” Erwin hopes, hopes, this will be enough, “ending the reign of the Underground Crow for good and living for no one’s sake but your own?”

Levi stares out the window left ajar – likely opened earlier, Erwin realizes, to let himself into his office – and falls silent.

Erwin walks away, Mike and Zoë following suite, not once looking back.

 

* * *

 

It takes five seconds, three sweeping steps around the cleaning solution to exit the office, and Erwin’s hand on the outside knob to relock the door shut before he hears an answer.

“Fine.” 

When they turn around, a collective unit of three pushing through the door, Levi’s crooked smile is all the proof Erwin needs that he’s made the right choice. 

“But if I’m making this place fucking spotless by the time you get back, you’d better help me move out of that apartment.  Got tons of shit I want to move into here for storage ‘till I go from trainee to scout and get my own quarters.”

Erwin laughs.

He laughs.

He laughs until his jaw aches something awful and he gives a nod of approval that’s met with Levi’s mock-salute before the teen picks up his mop, grumbles more curses under his breath, and starts in the scrub and sweep motion all over again.

 

* * *

 

(It’s a start, Erwin decides, if nothing else, and the possibilities as to what sort of fresh new start he’s given Levi and himself are endless.)

 


	14. introlude, introversion

The first year is nothing less than a transition period for them both.

Levi is. 

Stubborn. 

Infuriatingly stubborn and headstrong and impossible to coerce into an easy bargain.

Well, not impossible. 

He’s succeeded, on occasion, at dissuading Levi out of knocking out the teeth of some poor hapless trainee who’s managed to incite Levi’s violate temper, but those small victories are far and few between cutting his losses.

Sometimes in literal terms, Erwin thinks as he unearths a shirt that showcases a sizeable coffee stain not at all acquired by accident.

Although, Erwin muses, this was a boy who grew up in the slums, among roughhousing and tough-talking teens who were his peers, his friends, all throughout his younger years. 

Some of them stuck by Levi even after he went to ‘the other side,’ though, a choice set of them even visiting him on weekdays free from combat training for a considerable while thereafter.

That is, until one of them began spreading a rumor about Levi becoming the _Commander’s Bitch_.

Needless to say, Erwin hasn’t seen a single one of those boys ever since.

“What did you say,” he asks over a late dinner, the mess hall table empty apart from the two of them, “to chase them off the base?”

“I told them if I was any kind of dog,” Levi’s bared canines gleam, chewing thoughtfully, leaning his chin on the flat of his knee with his leg propped on the bench as he declares, “it’d be a bloodhound.  So I could track them down and hunt them myself.  Rip ’em a new one, too, if they ever thought to try and talk shit about me again.”

“So you weren’t,” the Commander has to be sure, “trying to protect my reputation?”

When Levi chucks his leftover bread at him and storms off with the excuse of heading for the trash bin, swearing all the way, Erwin flings his loaf at his retreating figure and finds how positively _pink_ the back of Levi’s ears is all the validation he needs.

 

* * *

 

The first year is an adjustment period for them both.

But all Erwin can hope for is small triumphs like these.

(They’re reminders, really, that his new charge is growing into a splendid soldier as the days overlap – the sort of soldier he could only dream of being, inside and out.)

 


	15. wind (beneath my wings)

“A natural expert at hand-to-hand combat,” Shadis nods approvingly while the other officers pace around each trainee for their evaluation, “though it’s easy to guess why.” 

A furtive, though amused, glance in his former pupil’s direction. 

“Where the hell did you find this kid,” the Trainee Squad’s Instructor throws his head back and laughs, “Erwin?”

The current Commander only smiles. 

“I didn’t find him anywhere, Instructor Shadis.  If anything,” the approaching late autumn weather whips at his parted hairline but Erwin stands unmoving, at his post high above the training grounds, “Levi sought me out.”

“And all these snot-nosed brats,” brays Shadis, “are joining the Recon Corps after graduation.”

“Stranger things,” Erwin’s bangs, disheveled, have begun to obscure his line of vision, “have been known to happen.”

Speaking of the trainees, this batch was proving to be just as unique as the previous year’s. 

Even halfway through their training, their 3DMG coaches were not yet finished with their lessons; the fledgling soldiers would need to prove they could balance, harnesses and all, in more than just a stationary position. 

Erwin remembers this part of his training – more than he’d care to admit, though that feels a gross understatement, looking back now – but he’s long done with being evaluated on the training grounds.

Calling Levi a natural, however, would be worse than an understatement.

It’s a shame, he thinks, these evaluations aren’t done individually.  He knows old traditions can be hard to shake, granted, and Shadis has never been fond of deviating from the status quo.  Gathering trainees in groups to be tested makes for stronger time management, too, a skill that any number of the bureaucratic officials seem to significantly lack.

But they can’t compare, Erwin can see even from this vantage point, let alone compete with someone like Levi.

He’s right at home with the 3DMG, had taken to the idea so readily that Erwin expected as much, despite having not visited the military base until today. 

The eagerness in his cadence palpable over their dinners ever since Shadis first announced their new training regimen continued into each and every occasion Levi brought up the weekly happenings, insisting that _it’s like being a fucking bird, Erwin, like you’ve grown wings overnight and gravity can’t hold you down and you can fly wherever the hell you want_.

Indulgent as his replies were then, Erwin isn’t taken aback in the least over what he’s seeing now.

Anchoring himself at the very last possible second to draw out twin harpoons, aiming right for the target areas in thick slabs of crimson paint, Levi swings and strikes and slices at the center of the marked bulls-eyes.

Blades still drawn, adrift in mid-air, rattling the model edifice’s mainframe, a structure crafted specifically for today’s evaluation, Levi’s expression remains fixed and focused as before on the obstacle course featured on the fields below.

Chasing after the wind – or, perhaps, it’s the wind that chases him, unable to keep up with a fluctuating center of gravity he adjusts to with every turn, as if weightless, as if there were invisible wings attached to that small back – Levi spins and swerves and effortlessly speeds through the air.

Until he lands, safe on the ground, to the appraising green signs held up to indicate a passing grade.

Once they see green, several trainees run right to him, congratulations and high praises rising in the tranquil air. 

Levi even has a few girls **hug** him, much to his visible displeasure.

Soon enough, the rest of the shell-shocked and gawking teens gather around the judges, joining the impromptu celebration.

“Who would’ve thought,” Shadis’s quick inhale, along with a genuinely fond bark of laughter, “a kid from the streets could make a great soldier?”

Erwin only smiles.

 

* * *

 

The boy scans the skies out of habit, but that’s what gets him to notice Erwin by the guard post on the hill. 

If their eyes meet at all, if he can see the _pride_ that swells within the Commander at that beautiful display of grace and physical prowess, if it shows at all on his face, then Levi doesn’t bring it up the following evening.

But that hardly matters, Erwin discovers, when he’s fairly certain – no, one-hundred percent sure – that Levi knows.

 


	16. your hair was long, when we first met

“So…are you finally going to let me schedule an appointment for you to get that haircut?” 

Drowsy as Erwin feels, reviewing the last few files left on his desk at the cusp of midnight, Levi’s anticipated _slamthud_ sweeping pace through his office door does not surprise him. 

He’s not surprised, either, when the first thing that Levi does is stride right up to his desk until he takes notice of him standing there.

The dirt patches, grass stains, and swelling bruise forming on Levi’s upper lip when he looks up, however, startle him to standing.

“Alright,” Erwin starts, tallying the days and weeks since this last happened (too many) and adding this to the many challenges faced as Levi’s unofficial guardian, “who dealt the finishing blow?”

“Me.“ Levi swipes at a fresh cut above his brow, wrinkles his nose when the back of his fist shows a splash of red.  “Bastard threw the first punch.”

 _I figured as much_ , Erwin almost says, though he decides against it once he’s met Levi halfway to his desk drawer, bandages and antiseptic already in hand. 

Levi takes what’s given to him but doesn’t say any more, walking around his desk to make himself comfortable in Erwin’s chair. 

“Should I ask how it happened,” he asks, wary, unsure of whether to feel agitation or appreciation over Levi keeping him from the rest of his work, “or are you planning on staying mum?”

A beat.

Then, Levi snatches the bandages from his hands.

“You, too.”

Erwin almost balks. 

“Me, too?”

“Hange says you’ve been quiet as all hell lately.”  He can’t imagine those exact words were spoken, but Erwin’s a little too used to Levi’s offhand remarks.  What he’s not used to is hearing the one person Levi designated as _batshit crazy_ dropping hints to his charge.  His trainee charge, Erwin resolves, who has plenty of other things to worry about than him.  “Those lazyasses up in their corporate offices chaining you to the desk again?”

“If only they were,” Erwin quips, watches Levi’s meticulous hands wind and unwind bandages as best he can around himself.  “You knew where to find me, though, regardless of how busy I’ve been.”

“Busy,” Levi scoffs, any elaboration lost to a slight cringe the instant moist cotton makes contact.  “Switchblade must’ve cut deeper than I thought.”

“Let me see,” Erwin instructs, not waiting for Levi’s approval before the younger one’s forearm finds itself in his careful hold.  “None of the boys in the barracks should be in the possession of switchblades.  I’ll need to ask Shadis to tell the ward monitors to do their job properly.”

“I wasn’t,” Levi’s eyes are on the floor, “fighting with a trainee.”

He’s known about Levi sneaking out to town and returning later than late for curfew, suspected that few Runners of Levi’s caliber wouldn’t be called back when it was convenient.  He’s known about it for a while, but he decided not to intervene – that is, unless Levi came to him with either express reasons for defaulting or a farewell.

But something about the way Levi says it bothers him.

“Why,” Erwin asks, kneeling to rewrap the bandages tighter, “go back to them if it means getting hurt?”

Nothing. 

Not even a rebuttal. 

He should be accustomed to this by now, the uncommunicativeness and the reluctance to rely on others, but how tightlipped Levi can be at times frustrates him.

“Levi—”

“I told them they could shove it.” 

The wick lamplight flame rekindles, a dull but still flickering light. 

Levi’s eyes linger on it, then – reluctant – return to Erwin, rolling his shirt sleeves back down to check his torn pants. 

 “I can’t imagine,” Erwin tries to withhold a smile, “they took too kindly to your…suggestion.”  

“They didn’t.”  Levi’s smirk is nothing less than wry.  “But I didn’t have to suggest anything, as it turns out, because they already found themselves a new pet.”

 “And you ran into,” Erwin surmises, “this new pet?”

“At least they didn’t pick a Runner,” Levi nods, mildly, while Erwin attends to the welts from ankle to the start of his knees, “who couldn’t actually run.”

The quiet washes over them both, Erwin’s meditative and Levi’s passive. 

While the Commander applies ointment to any open wounds, he watches the steady rise and fall of Levi’s chest, breathing so even he suspects at first Levi may have fallen asleep sitting up.

“My hair.”  
  
 _Ah,_ Erwin smiles as he disinfects the last of Levi’s cuts, _he’s more than awake if he remembers what I asked when he first came in._  
  
“I’m not letting any barber,” Levi continues on, “put a pair of scissors or their dirty-ass hands anywhere near my head.  Just so you know.”

“Then who would you,” Erwin sighs, rather exasperated at the argument running now three weeks and counting, “trust with a pair of scissors and let put their, as you put it, ‘dirty-ass hands’ anywhere near your head?”

Levi glowers up at him, expectant. 

Waiting for an answer.  Waiting for Erwin to figure it out.

And he does, after several seconds of poignant staring.

“...You are incorrigible.”  Levi – damn this boy and his unexpected predilection for little half-smiles and sudden laughter – appears almost smug, likely taking it as a compliment.  “Leading me on and playing hard to get.  Is this how the young ladies at the trainee camp who pine after your attention feel?”

“Like I’d have any, old man.”  With the amount of times Levi had called him that, Erwin’s almost considers it a term of endearment.  “I don’t have time for romancing anyone, besides.”

“Well,” the older man moves aside to give Levi access to the Commander’s private living quarters – or, specifically, the adjoined bathroom large enough to accommodate at least Levi sitting up on the sink as their makeshift barber stool, “let’s see if a haircut can change that.”

 


	17. oh, i've been waiting (desperately)

“Ow,” Levi almost lands a kick to the taller man’s stomach, squinting through the soapy water in his eyes.  “ _Ow_.”

“Funny how I don’t recall you complaining,” Erwin remarks, refilling the bucket at the tap on the other end of the tub, moving back over to Levi to pour and rinse off the last of the suds, “when I was cleaning your wounds.”

“I could’ve done it myself,” is Levi’s immediate reply, scrubbing at the back of his (now exposed) neck.

He placates the younger one with a hand to his nape, brushing away stray wisps sticking to the skin and checking for any leftover razor nicks.

What a difference a haircut makes in someone.

What a difference a haircut makes in someone, Erwin thinks, puts down the bucket to comb through Levi’s hair one last time to ensure they’ve evened out all the varying lengths – knowing that, if it isn’t perfect, then Levi can trim the rest.

What a difference a haircut makes in someone, Erwin thinks, standing back on his haunches to admire his handiwork – and though he’s no professional, it’s a style that Levi wanted and, in Erwin’s opinion, it suits him rather well.

What a difference a haircut makes in someone, Erwin thinks, fingers gently stroking over the fine hairs at the base of Levi’s neck, in a perfect squared cut – and Levi doesn’t shy away from his touch, the intimacy of the gesture notwithstanding.

It was flight of fancy, he supposes, that made him do that.

But Levi hasn’t said a word. 

He knows that Levi’s noticed, too.  His hands haven’t gone unpleasantly cold yet when he checks, the back of his palm resting in his free hand, watching lukewarm water droplets drip down Levi’s exposed nape from the point of contact.

Not a word exchanged still.

He watches them slip down, down the slope toward once too-thin shoulders filling out and the contoured muscles of his back (small, slim, smooth – and sparkling clean, of course, as if Levi would accept anything less), scars faded and fresh no less befitting of the young boy with an old soul.

A boy, he thinks – has to remind himself.  A boy.  Levi is seventeen going on eighteen, but only that.

Strange, he thinks, a low heat twined tight at the pit of his stomach and a rising chill at the back of his too-dry throat, how there’s a word on the tip of his tongue for what the sight makes him feel (restless, the way a successful expedition outside the Walls would warrant, no claim to glory or prize to be won here). 

Very strange, he thinks, how he almost reaches out again to touch him, a boy who’s grown in the last two years more than Erwin’s ever expected.

Grown, indeed.

But he smiles away the strange flurry of motion at noticing, at length, the splash of color to Levi’s cheeks without a word.

No longer can Levi hide behind the curtain of his long bangs and claim he’s turning red because he’s ‘been waiting to take a shit,’ not when the Commander knows him far better than that.

(But does he, Erwin wonders through the restless thrum of his heartbeat, know enough not to let emotions get the better of him?)

“Something tells me,” his voice sounds forced even to him, but he pushes aside these strange thoughts, picks up the bucket beside him, and dumps it over Levi’s head – who squawks, indignant, and flings out water from the tub at him – flustered reaction and tense silence all but forgotten, “doing it this way worked out better for us both.”

 

* * *

 

If anyone asks why Erwin looks so tired the next day, despite having finally finished his bureaucratic duties for the rest of the month, he would tell them the truth.

The truth, of course, was that he was so glad to be done with another chapter of his life that he couldn’t settle down last night.

It’s a half-truth, if nothing else, to add to the mountain of lies he’s told since becoming Commander.

 


	18. destined to always (remember)

In theory, the Formation for Long Distance Enemy Detection has a higher success rate than any other battle tactic created ever before. 

It's a formation built to last, conceived to improve the mortality rate of their scouts by at least thirty-percent, reduce the number of incidental deaths caused by rouge or isolated soldiers taking on more than they can handle, and decrease the chances of a successful expedition exponentially.  
  
In theory.  
  
Separating troops, sending out signal flares, saving on gasoline and surveying time – all these things, regardless of weather conditions or how many Titans are attracted to their groups, will be cut in half.  
  
And so they have.  
  
In theory.  
  
Theories are Zoë's expertise, experimentation and application of them too, and even Zoë seems unsure when he first suggests the idea.  
  
For all her uncertainty, Zoë has never been anything less than certain in her faith in Erwin.  
  
Erwin is nothing if not thankful for that.

Still, the Commander is well aware of the risks and the dangers still associated with their line of work – with his line of work – and no amount of careful planning or preconceived formations can change that.

But it’s strange.  
  
It's strange, stranger than strange – when he whirls around to find not one nor two but three Abnormals are facing him, two distracted by Mike and Zoë's squads galloping in and the other's steeled gaze on him (or is it his horse?  no, first the horse, nostrils flaring, and now at **him** ) – that theories are the last thing on his mind.  
  
It's strange, the strangest of strange, to realize – when a blur of _greengoldred_ sweeps by him and he's unexpectedly flung off his horse, once-noble mare ripped in half by the claws of a looking behemoth who's gotten the better of his rain-drenched instincts – he feels no sense of panic but, instead, a grim sense of regret.  
  
It's strange, he thinks, to feel himself going numb and realize his first thought isn't of how he's let Zoë down.  
  
( _Ah, but that's right... the new turnstiles for the Research Lab..._

_Come to think of it, it's almost her birthday, isn't it?  I should have made the arrangements earlier._

_If nothing else, we could have earned just a little bit of extra money for the Research Lab fund._ )  
  
It's strange, he thinks, to feel his eyes squeeze shut just as searing heat crushes through skin and veins and arteries let out shrill warning cries as the shadows bent around angles of red and white – _his leg,_ _the oversized bastard's got the Commander's leg; dammit, men, forget the big-eyed freak and take down this giant one with a horn-like growth on its head!_ – congeal over his conquered consciousness.  
  
( _Ah, those lights... must be backup flares, I'd guess..._

_Which reminds me, I requested enough replacements, didn't I?  We were running low on them, if I remember correctly._

_Then again, we always seem to be running low on near everything here at the Legion._ )  
  
It's strange, he thinks, to shift at being carted over a broad shoulder – Zoë? No, Mike; it must be, based on how large the hand on his back to steady him is, carrying him away on the frenetic neighs of Zoë's stallion – and not discern a single thing that passes over his field of vision, drinking in the sights of the inside of his eyelids flickering to the siren's call of splendorous **dark**.

 

* * *

 

 _Who will tell the King_ , is his last conscious thought before he chases after the beckoning call of endless dusk, _to send word to my family that I've—_

 

* * *

 

 

Is he gone already?

"It's alright, sweetheart,  
Emmett's already left.  
Go back to bed, go rest up -  
you've got Civics lessons  
in the morning, after all."

 

I’m not a child anymore.

 

I'm sorry, sir, b-but this is a lot to consider...

"Get some rest, Smith.  
We'll talk over any promotions tomorrow -  
or once we're back from  
the Reclamation Expedition, at least.  
Have an answer ready for me then, yes or no."

 

I can’t rely on promises and borrowed gratitude anymore.

  
  
It's not _right_ , Father, pushing labels onto people!

"Do you know why, my sweet golden boy Erwin,  
they say that dreams are like visions of the future  
only those in a deep sleep can see?  
It's because only when we close our eyes  
can we see what we truly desire in our waking lives."

  
  
I can't believe in any of those things anymore—

  
  
"Sweetheart—"

  
  
—Fairytales nor happy endings.

  
  
"My sweet golden boy—"

  
  
 _I'm sorry, Commander_ —

  
  
"Smith—"

_—We’ve failed._

 

* * *

 

  
  
"Hey," he hears – thinks he hears it, anyway, a pained murmur of a voice rising over the pelt of rain sliding down his jaw and his imagined lightweight body and, against the rising mist of Titan blood and his blood intermingling, a rapid flash of lightning illuminating a too-frightened and too-young face, a pair of old eyes and a new haircut – "Listen up, you piece of shit Commander, don't you dare close your eyes.  Sit up, stand up, and—!"

 

(His apology gets sucked into the vacuum of white noise and seizing pain – three brutal and agonizing seconds of it – until he's gone again.)

 

* * *

 

  
Snip.  
  
“'Levi.'  Who was it that decided on that name, I wonder.”  
  
Snip-snip.  
  
“Beats me.  Well, whoever thought it up, it must’ve been someone's piss-poor idea of a joke, I'd guess.”  
  
Snip.  Silence.  Snip-snip.  
  
“Why do you say that?”  
  
Snip-snip-snip.  
  
Snip.  
  
Silence.  
  
“It's an anagram for "evil," obviously.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Snip.  
  
“Whoever the sick bastard was who thought of the name probably thinks he's fucking brilliant or something.”  
  
Snip.  Snip.  Snip.  
  
“Hmm, that's strange.  I never thought of it the way you did, in all honesty, because I always assumed it was an anagram for something else.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Snip.  
  
More silence.  
  
“...Like what?”  
  
Snip.  
  
“Levi.  You mean to tell me you've really never thought about it?”  
  
Snip.  
  
“Thought about _what_ , old man?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“—If you rearrange the letters in your name another way...it could also be an anagram for _live_.”  
  
(Snip.)

 

* * *

 

  
_Levi._

  
"Wake up..."

_You mean to tell me—_

  
"Hey.  Old man.  Wake up.”  

_—you've really never thought about it?_

“The medics are here, fina-fuckin-ly—"

_If you rearrange the letters in your name another way,_

_it's something else._

  
"You…big oaf…why're you so fucking **heavy** , shit—"

  
  
_If you rearrange the letters,_

_it's not 'evil' at all._

  
"Hey, fatass giant of a Legion dog-wrangler.”

_Levi._

 

“You need me to hold your hand when they sew you back up or what—?"

_Live._

"...Hey, Erwin."

  
_Levi._

"...Don't die."

  
_Live._

  
  
"'Cause if you die without my permission, I'm gonna track you down, find your sorry ass, and resurrect you just so I can kill you myself."  
  
 _“You know I could do it.  Any time I wanted to, any time you let your guard down.”_

  
"—Don't die, Erwin."

  
_I figured, if you wanted to kill me, you’d have already done it by now…_

  
"Erwin."

_Levi._

  
"Don’t just lie there and let them haul you off, dumbass, **say** something—"

_Levi._

  
"You can hear me, right?” 

_Levi._

 

“You aren’t dead yet— just, do something, anything, fuck, Erwin, just—”

 

_Levi._

“Squeeze my hand, move a finger, do something, dammit, _anything_ —!"

 

_Live._

 

* * *

  
If not for your own sake,  
  
then,  
  
do it for—

 


	19. nobody's laughing (at god)

Somewhere between consciousness and the realm of unconsciousness, Erwin awakens.

 

* * *

 

  
"...So no change in his condition at all since I last came in here, huh?"  
  
"Not a sign of life, either, so yeah.  I'm ‘guessing’ that's it?"  
  
"I wouldn't say that.  There was definitely a lot for us to work on tonight, anyway. Plenty of bumps and bruises on top of all those cuts. Internal bleeding and the real nasty fall that broke his leg aside, his breathing’s shallow and there's a pulse as low as anything, but...he hasn't woken up.  Granted, I’m no expert, but I'd assume he hasn’t woken up yet because—"  
  
"He’s in a coma, then."  
  
"Well.  Your guess is as good as mine, but – quite honestly – it’s a miracle that we even got him back here to Headquarters still breathing at all."  
  
"...A miracle, huh."  
  
"That's what we call it here in the Recon Corps, kiddo.  Take it or leave it."  
  
"Thanks but no thanks.  I’ll take it for what it is—”

“I’m glad you see things my way.”

“—but what needs to leave here is **you** , dapper medic-in-training."  
  
"Excuse _you_ , but I have a name, you know!  It’s Nanaba!  And, for the record, I still need to change the Commander’s bandages—"  
  
"I can handle that.  Done it more than enough times for myself when I was on the streets, so I'm pretty sure I can handle it."  
  
"Uhhh, how about no?  Hate to break it to you, little guy, but personal medical services aren’t the same as—"  
  
"Not the same as what?  Do I look like I care?  Look, just get going and don't come back.  I said I can handle it, Nanaba.  So go.  Scram.  Before I shove your concave ass out the fucking window instead.”

“…Wow.  They weren’t kidding when they said you were like his guarddog, huh—”

 _Clickthudslam_.

* * *

 

Even when he isn’t awake in the formal sense, Erwin hears.

 

* * *

  
  
"Hey.  Brought some fruit from my trip down to the marketplace today.  None for you, Little Levi?"  
  
"Fuck off, Hange."  
  
"Ooh, someone's extra nasty.  Low blood sugar?  Three days of not eating can do that to anyone, former Underground Crow or not."  
  
"I _said_ , fuck off—"

“Levi.  He's gonna be okay.  You know that, right?"  
  
"...Even when the Corps' oh-so-esteemed medical opinion tells us otherwise?"  
  
"Nanaba's a medic-in-training, the best we've got on staff, but— that's not why I'm saying that.”

“Then what makes you so—?

“I'm no doctor.  I'm a scientist, you know that.  But…something tells me he's gonna pull through like always.  I feel it in my bones."  
  
"Sure that’s not just your women's intuition talking?"  
  
"You say that, Little Levi, like you don't believe in the power of women's intuition."  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Then what's your – very hungry, I'm sure – gut instinct telling you?"

A long silence follows. 

Then, a labored exhale:  
  
"Erwin won't die."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"When I told him not to die, his hand moved.  I felt it.  He grabbed at my hand as soon as I said that.  So he must’ve heard me, Hange.  That's how **I** know."  
  
"Then why aren't you eating?"

Another lapse in conversation.  
  
"…doesn't feel right."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Not eating dinner on a weekend at the mess hall, when no one else's around.   It doesn't feel right.”  

“What doesn’t feel right?”

“If no one's sitting across from me, it like something's...wrong.  Like something's missing."  
  
"Or some _one_ , perhaps?"  
  
"Hange.  I swear to—"

A round of raucous laughter, all from the same person, followed by the clean slice of a knife cutting through crisp apple flesh.

“…Hange.”  
  
"It’s fine, Levi.  I was only teasing you before.”

 _Thunk_ , _thunk_ , _thunk_ goes the paring knife against the cutting board.

“But…”

“But what?”

“I know neither of us know for sure, but— sometimes all you need's a little bit of faith, right?  And he'll wake up soon, I'll bet.  Just means we should go grab some dinner with Mike and I and…well, after all that, we’ll trust in Erwin to take care of himself and keep waiting.”

“And after that?”

“After that, we'll all come back to check on him.”

“Later tonight?”

“Later tonight.  Promise."  
  
"Tch.  Faith and trust and promises, huh…? Some scientist you turned out to be."

“Scientist or not, I’m one-hundred percent sure Erwin’ll be glad to know we’re bonding like this!”

“—Hange.”

“Yes, Little Levi?”

“…Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

Even with his eyes closed and sleep phases between, Erwin knows – the moment his eyes open – that something is wrong.

This isn’t the infirmary, for one thing. 

This isn’t the hospital within the capital, either, not a trace of any nurses or medical practitioners at his bedside tending to him.

This force laid against him is not purposeful, no delicacy to the slumped figure resting on the flat of his palm.

Senses dulled, he can’t figure out what’s out of place, what’s changed.

But he will.

All in due time.

 


	20. i need a voice (to echo)

When he opens his eyes again, daylight pours through the sunlit window of his private bedquarters.

He turns his head to look left, slowly, his voice coming out as a rasp. 

There’s a name on the tip of his tongue, he knows, from moments as strange as the ones that led them here.

“Levi.”  The dozing teen stirs, lifts his chin from his elbow and rises from the border of the four-post bedframe, and the question that leaves his lips is not what he means to ask at all.  “Did…you fall asleep?”

“—Shit,” Levi’s mouth falls open, the flat of his palm rubbing furiously over his unkempt bangs.  “I think.  Actually.  I think I did.”

When he moves to straighten his sleep-rumpled uniform, the blond lets out a laugh – a sound that turns pained when his ribs seem to rattle in response – before he registers Levi’s mumble of _g’morning to you too asswipe_.

“Good morning to you as well—”

Trying to move was a terrible idea, Erwin discovers belatedly, given the way his plaster-cast leg and the lurching swirl of vertigo takes over the rest. 

Again, the questions he wants to ask escape him. 

He, just barely, manages with the easiest.

“H-How long…?”

“Three days, not including today.”  Levi is quick to settle him back down into the pillows, the semblance of a daggered look returning.  “Not including the night we brought you back.”

‘We.’ 

What a curious word, Erwin thinks, eyes falling open and shut in brief, though splintered, recollection. 

“What about training?”

“Screw training,” shoots back Levi, so vehement that Erwin’s eyes flit back to his face at once.  “Hange’s handling the scouts, Mike’s playing your ambassador for the next week, and hell only knows what Shadis’s gonna say once he gets through with his aneurisms over me not coming back.  But screw him, too – that drill sergeant knows damn well where I am.  If he needed me, I would’ve heard it from him personally.”

“Ah,” is all Erwin can manage in reply, larynx so cottony he can’t protest when Levi tucks the covers over his sweltering and sweating body again. 

It’s pleasant, if a bit unusual, to be fussed over like this. 

Even when he was a boy, the bedchamber maids and the lower hall servants were the ones who tended to him at times like these, so having someone outside of his extended family and hired help see him like this felt…strange. 

Strange.

But not unwanted.

“You’re not going anywhere for the next few days, either.”  Then, once Erwin’s gaze catches him staring back, Levi is firmer:  “At least not until the fever goes down and we can get you crutches.”

Not once since the second time they met – the first time, really, they ever spoke on equal grounds – had Erwin felt the weight of a deafening quiet like this between them.

He expects a verbal backlash, some sort of affront, from the Royal Consulate when he’s well enough to leave this room.

A stern scolding from Mike, too, along with a lapful of sobbing Zoë and perhaps a few of his remaining scouts appearing to offer condolences and misconceptions about where the Legion’s misappropriated funds will go following this botched expedition. 

He expects all of these things, expects the impending migraines that come with it, as much as he does the customary clicking of the pocketwatch—

_Wait, where did I put—?_

“This damn thing again.”  Levi’s visage grapples the borderline of a scoff and a smile, reaching for the polished metal glinting at his bedside table.  “You keep dropping it like that, one of these days, and I’m not gonna be around to pick it back up and find it.”

He reaches out to take hold of it.

It’s only after he’s stopped short, grasping at the open air when a tremor that runs through his arm and wracks through his entire frame, that the chain and covered watch face hits the floor.

“Sorry.   I’m…sorry.  Good Sina, I’m a mess— I-I’m sorry—” 

Hesitation. 

How he loathes the term, the very notion.

How he loathes the way his breath hitches at the abrupt lightheaded storm of motor memory in flashes and fade-outs: reaching for the clouds, spinning through the air, those ravenous beastlike eyes looming over him as he lies back to shut his eyes and accept his worst nightmares emerging over the veil of his reality.

How he loathes that his hands **shake** at what he finally understands.

(How he loathes the fingers clenched around the bedsheets that coil around, suddenly too snug and too boiling and too constricting, the quaver to his palms laid open in his lap blurred images as he tends to the pressure rising within him, the guilt of loss and the anguish of the cold repercussions of _how many of them died to protect me_ and _why am I still_ —)

“Don’t be.”  He can’t see, can’t _see_ over the mottled shadows heavy over his spinning vision, but he feels hands take hold of his long enough for him to notice Levi’s eyes on him.  “Don’t apologize, Erwin.” 

Levi’s eyes.  Silver-set and strong.  Older and far more tired than they ought to be at his age. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong, let alone anything that warrants a ‘sorry.’”

Far kinder, too, than Erwin deserves.

Levi does not stay with him for very long, that day.

But the arms that reach for him are warm, warmer than anything Erwin can recall, a welcoming acceptance.

But the hold that clutches to fabric that much tighter, when he anchors himself into that warmth, to the hands weaving through his hair and sweeping aside blankets, is so instinctual that he can feel himself drifting off again.

But Erwin can’t recall exactly when he recognizes a fact that doesn’t unsettle him, a fact that doesn’t leave him feeling defenseless as he expects, just before all he can stare at are the inside of his eyelids.

He can’t recall, before Levi, if he’s ever allowed anyone to comfort him like this, ever broken down in front of and held onto while doing so, a sight even Mike and Zoë have yet to witness.

(The first to ever see him—)

“It’s alright,” Levi tells him, voice coming in faint but the heartbeat resilient and muted against his ear as clear as the sunrise peeking through the curtains, febrile along the tear tracks he hadn’t even noticed falling fresh until now.  “No one’s expecting you to go anywhere with that leg of yours, so – don’t think about anything.”

“Just…take care of yourself, for once.”

 

* * *

 

( _No one’s expecting you to be perfect_ : it’s a sentiment as unversed as it is inviting and Erwin – for all his better judgment and neuroses about letting the rest of the world view him as The Ruthless Commander of the Legion – falls face-forward into the embrace of such gentle words and let himself dream once more.)

**  
**


	21. a brave new world (from the last to the first)

By the time Erwin realizes it, he’s standing at the ready to address the newest batch of just-graduated trainees, standing on the same stage and the same podium firmly grounded at his feet.

That said, today is not the same day as in other years.  

Failure is no more an option then as it is now – a mistake turned fatal, regrets reserved for the isolation of his living quarters, lying awake at the cusp of dawn – but the Commander has grown used to the cyclical process, easier over the years than it was before. 

Resolve.

Reclaim.

Regret.

Repent.

Recover.

But as Commander Smith stands in front of the new recruits, about to his speech as always, Erwin finds he does not want to provide disillusionments to these boys and girls.

Because that’s what they are, he knows, pausing in his practiced prose to prompt _those who fear death_ to _consider another division of our extended military family_.

Because that’s what they are, he knows, taking in the panic-stricken faces of the ones who stay and nodding to each of the faces in turn so that, even if they should not survive, _they will be remembered_.  

Because that’s what they are, he knows – just like the teen, no, the young **man** , who’s grown into a soldier who deserves to stand like that, proudly, with his old eyes and young impetuous soul and his pristine uniform and a fist taut to his chest – and the sight of all those lining up to serve no longer leaves him empty.

 

* * *

 

No longer empty vassals, he and they are soldiers, filled with a duty equivocal.

To serve, to stand for Humanity’s counterattack, and to strike back against the leviathans that forced them behind these Walls – to the death?

 _No, sir, we don’t want to die_ , they chant, _and so we will fight_.

(And so they will.)

 


	22. light up (again)

The custom-order Scouting Legion jacket and cloak, much to his surprise, need just a few minor alterations.

The green cloak is a touch too long, a touch too big.  But even Erwin can sew up an adjusted hem and shorten the shoulders.

The finer aspects of Uniform Intervention (as Zoë takes to calling it), he leaves to his longtime friend.

Granted, Zoë is perhaps a bit…too enthusiastic where fixing it for Levi is concerned, always a bit too enthusiastic where bonding time is concerned, as the younger man ‘fascinates’ Zoë to no end. 

But Erwin lets them exchange banter as they’re obliged to, keeps his comments at a minimum while he finishes signing off on the last of the new recruits’ registration forms. 

“It’s rather incredible,” Erwin can’t help but remark, however, to an ever-fastidious Mike rearranging the stack of papers to slip back into their appropriate envelope, “how close they’ve gotten over the years, isn’t it?”

“No,” Levi declares – at the same time as Zoë coos, “Yes.” 

The younger one bristles.

Zoë continues repositioning the final latch-hook on his right sleeve.

It takes seconds for Levi to no longer look cross and remove his jacket at the Squad Leader’s request, pitching in with Zoë’s idle chatter. 

Mike wanders over to join them at the loveseat, hovers out of habit around Levi to ensure he won’t start swinging at Zoë if she’s misspoken. 

It’s damage control, a preemptive measure more than anything, one that’s persisted over the years, as much as Zoë’s fondness for pinching Levi’s cheeks (and Levi allowing Zoë to, most of the time, provided he isn’t in a particularly foul mood that day) whenever he starts fuming. 

They’ve watched over him at times when Erwin could not, taking him under the Scouting Legion’s wings as soon as the graduation ceremony finished, and brought him here to his office now. 

His appreciation for that, for them, knows no bounds.

“—Speaking of living space,” Mike passes a steaming mug to Zoë (who, upon finishing the task at hand, pats Mike’s shoulder in thanks as she rises to stand) and Levi (who, upon confirming there was indeed a dash of creamer and a teaspoon of honey in it, nods in approval), “you haven’t moved into the Legion barracks yet, have you, Levi?”

Levi takes a sip of his coffee.

“Individual sleeping quarters or not, the barracks are about as clean as a pigsty.”  Nonplussed, he lowers his cup and tips his head back to the Commander heading over to join the three of them at the sofa.  “So since my stuff’s already stored in Erwin’s closet, I decided to move in with him instead.”

Erwin knocks into the side of his desk, scattering several blank forms.

Mike’s mug shatters as it hits solid ground, as does his jaw.

Zoë, the most coherent of the trio, spits out a mouthful of coffee and makes an unintelligible noise.

“I thought you were joking,” croaks Erwin, finally, “when you mentioned that the other week.”

“Why would I joke about something like that?”  Is Levi irritated at him?  The thin line of his mouth doesn’t change but there’s a furrow to his brow that says otherwise.  “You always tell me that my sense of humor’s terrible, anyway.”

“I also seem to recall,” Erwin presses a hand to his throbbing temples, “telling you to come to me directly if you have a personal problem or request, Levi.”

“This isn’t a personal request, though.”  

Zoë looks gleeful over the conversation unfolding in front of her, an avid spectator and likely taking down mental notations as they speak. 

Mike, a plaintive sniff later, starts sweeping up the brown-stained ceramic pieces. 

Why it always turns out like this, Erwin will never know.

“It’s not a problem for you,” determined as he is to stand his ground, Levi’s voice falters – as if he had full faith his proposal wouldn’t be turned down, “is it?”

Erwin has to stop and think about that.

“Wouldn’t you prefer your own personal quarters?”  On the Legion base, scouts were allowed a later curfew as well as their own bunks.  For the amount of risk factors and daily dangers they faced, Erwin argued that was the least they could offer the young men and women who bore their winged crest.  “I know you aren’t pleased with the…condition of the barracks at the moment, but lived-in as they might seem—” 

“Lived-in?”  The creases in Levi’s brow deepen.  “When was the last time you’ve been to the barracks to visit?”

“T-That’s…”

“The dust mites in that place are up to the friggin’ ceiling when we went through there during orientation, ’sides.” 

“ _Levi_ ,” Erwin all but moans, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “How many times do I have to tell you to not answer a question with a question?”

“Plenty,” quips Levi, not-quite smirk visible as he hops up on nimble feet, standing before Erwin without a shred of hesitation.  “But aside from your reputation as ‘ruthless,’ the entire army knows you as a man who’d never turn down a challenge.  So why not think of it that way, Commander?”

A stalemate. 

Much as he would have liked to debate this for the rest of the evening – they certainly could, he knows, as they have many times previous – Levi remains unconvinced. 

Erwin knows better than to push when he’s sure Levi will pull right back, too, dogmatism as a means of defense learned over his years living in the Underground. 

He’s all but ready to give in until Mike finally speaks up.

“Just let him stay with you, Erwin.”  The tallest man present sounds more doting parent than squadmate at the moment, damp cloth done sweeping away shards and stains on the hardboard panels.  “He’s spent the last three years doing whatever you ask, so would it really be such a hardship to indulge him?”

“M’not asking to be ‘indulged,’” Levi grouses, mumbling while the tips of his ears turn pink and he flops back down onto the couch.  “I’m not even asking.  I just figured we could room together for convenience’s sake.  No other reason.”

“It’d keep him out of trouble, if anything!”  Zoë looks sheepish after Levi sends her a withering stare.  “No offense, Little Levi.”

“None taken.”  Levi crosses one leg over the other, not put out, not even brooding.  “And of course I’m not gonna cause trouble.  Shit, the only trouble I ever ‘caused’ was because some soldiers-in-training are more like soldiers-in-need-of-potty-training.”

“Levi—”

“Yeah, yeah,” huffs the smaller man.  “I know.  Be nice and play well with others and all that garbage.  You don’t have to remind me, Mom.”

“Levi.”

Zoë snorts. 

Mike, returning from the garbage bin, looks as expectant of the Commander’s answer as Levi is when he stares from Mike to Zoë and back to Erwin again.

“What?”

“As long as you aren’t adverse to it,” Erwin pauses to place his hand at the crown of Levi’s cropped hair and make a mess of the already tousled strands, “then it’s fine.  I’m sorry for giving you a hard time. 

“Is that,” _good Sina_ , Erwin thinks, _what big eyes he has whenever something catches him off-guard_ , “a yes?”

“Yes.”  Erwin chuckles, ruffling the younger one’s hair some more.  “It’s a yes, Levi.  Welcome to the Scouting Legion.”

 

* * *

 

If anyone asks how Levi reacted to his agreement, Erwin will tell them he’s never seen such a look of absolute **delight** on his charge’s face, not since the day they broke into a laughing fit right there in Levi’s old (now dismantled and vacated) apartment.

If anyone asks how Zoë and Mike reacted to the arrangement, Erwin will insist that they took to Levi’s demands of giving his quarters a “much needed face-lift” with offers to help clean and a liveliness the Commander never knew his faithful comrades possessed.

And if anyone asks how Erwin felt about it—  

Well.

He’s still getting used to the perks and downsides of no longer living alone.

He’s still getting used to the _idea_ of it: Levi, who – taken in as a boy and now almost fully grown, carrying himself as such more than ever – continues to confound him.

But it’s a change, a good change, and living with someone else isn’t nearly as much of a hardship as he expected.

(It’s refreshing, in fact, as much as it is to see the smile Levi wears, as he scurries off to reorganize the rest of his drawers to accommodate for a second person’s attire, and Erwin doesn’t regret his decision in the least.)


	23. the tension and the spark

They settle into routines, self-imposed habits, over the months to follow.

For example. 

If Levi can’t be found on the base or anywhere that neither Zoë nor Mike can locate, Erwin knows not to wait up for him.

When he was a trainee, when he would still run for the Underground, Levi wouldn’t appear back at the barracks until late at night.

Or, sometimes, not until mid-afternoon the next day. 

No amount of punishment or supplication could bring him back, either. 

So eventually, the officers gave up on stopping Levi’s nocturnal getaways, provided that his practical exam performance continued to meet their standards.

Erwin, then, had more than enough work to keep him busy, so he rarely intervened. 

Erwin has more than enough work now, too, overseeing and undercover eavesdropping on Consulate meetings to fill the gaps between planning monthly expeditions and solidifying new tactical suggestions for their new formation.

Erwin doesn’t bother with the lectures anymore, doesn’t bother confronting Levi about where he steals away into the night – not when he knows there are secrets Levi will never reveal.

He’s followed him before, though.

At least thrice.

For curiosity’s sake.

What Erwin discovers: the nearest Levi wanders from the grounds is the gates at the edge of the Legion Headquarters’ fenced-in perimeter.

What Erwin finds incomprehensible: the farthest Levi ever wanders from the grounds is the lakeside on the path heading down toward the Marketplace.

What Erwin thinks of the picturesque sight – of Levi, no 3DMG to be found on his persons, amidst the branches and thick foliage of a gnarled oak tree, staring up at the sky, singing indistinct against the airstream’s flow – is a secret that even he will not divulge, let alone to the boy swathed in verdant hues and shadows cast by the moonlight.

He’s reminded of an old saying, on his walk back to his bedquarters, about how some feelings are ineffable, naming them a hopeless venture better left asunder.

But for all his misgivings, he knows.

There is a word, after all, to describe how Levi beneath the resplendent moonlight’s glow.

(Beautiful, he thinks – as his eyes fall shut to the low rattle of his office window sliding open and shut, to the dulled hum of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, and to the far end of his mattress sinking to the mumble of _goodnight_ and _wake me up before you leave_ – is a misnomer, indeed.)

 

* * *

 

Levi does not sleep soundly. 

Erwin finds this out, as most things about Levi, through experience.

Levi is a fitful sleeper. 

He’s prone to rolling over any number of times throughout the night, and – though not as frequent as of late as in the past – sometimes Levi will slip out on his own to perch by the windowsill or lounge on the futon or rummage through his drawers and find a (too long unused, as he’s given up the habit himself) pack of cigarettes to have a smoke outside.

Levi has unusual sleeping habits, to say the very least, and occasionally surprising ones.

There’ve been occasions where Erwin would open his eyes to find Levi on his side of the bed, snoring away, form contorted in such peculiar positions he has to stifle his laughter before he wakes his roommate.

There’ve been occasions, as well, where Erwin would jolt from a nightmare and find serenity in the light of Levi’s wondering eyes.

Just as many occasions, too, where Erwin would open his eyes to find Levi lying next to him, curled against his side and shivering in his sleep no matter how thick the comforters he insists upon, even in summer.

And Erwin holds him, content to fall back asleep again once the tremors to that slight frame have ceased.

 

* * *

 

There’ve been other nights, other occasions, too.

But these occasions – where Erwin would open his eyes to find the curls and tresses framing a peaceful visage and the crosshatched discolorations and the exposed arch of a strong jawline and the glimpse of intersecting indentations, where abdomen muscles meet pelvic bones dipping down further and desire blurs his unstable vision – are kept for the impromptu early morning cold showers.

But these occasions – where the only apparitions he invites to take over at the painful clutch of his own hand are the ones that soothe the endless craving, summons within the construct of feverish illusions – are classified information filed away for much later.

But these occasions (and Erwin thinks, good Sina help him, if he were to ever graced with the reality of his fantasies, an all too real voice and body to match what his overactive imagination portrays), he knows the truth of the matter is he would likely collapse on the spot if he were granted this, because it makes him ache to realize how much he wants, how much he wants from—

 

* * *

 

He wants, with an intensity he’s never known before, all these things.

The glistening sweat over lean muscle.

The strain of small shoulders, a telltale twitch and shudder at every thrust.

Arms braced against the desk, a slender back facing him as the line of familiar bruises join the unfamiliar swell of his mouth, panting and pleading around the fingers pressed as his tongue laves at them, still dripping wet and wanton and waiting for him to _move already, your age’s showing, old man, and you’re the worst, making me wait and tell you when you know damn well what I want_.

The cant of his lover’s hips, grinding back down and surging against him for what feels like the hundred time, if not the thousandth, time of mapping out the planes of one another’s bodies, familiarity transformed from constancy into intimacy.

(And what he wants, more than anything: the soft sound his own name, desire-wrought and desperate as nails dig into forearms and toes curl against creaking floorboards and he’s **begging** at this point, for _more_ and _faster_ and _please, fuck, don’t stop, just keep going ‘till I can’t feel anything else except—_ )

Erwin, by the time sun rises, finds its arrival soft and faithful and strangely cold, not at all like his traitorous thoughts keeping him warm and wide awake, sitting upright, braced against the bathroom door with the aftertaste of alcohol laced on his tongue and the bittersweet twinge of the revelation it was, after all, only a dream.

Along with a name he knows – a little too well, in fact – lingering on the wry downturned corner of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Levi,” he’ll say when he emerges from the bathroom, turning to the bewildered expression that sends guilt running through him sleep-sore and stumbling out into the kitchen on days like these, “good morning.”

“Morning,” Levi gives him that crooked half-smile, none the wiser, turning back to the stovetop to finish making breakfast.

And perhaps the worst part of all is that, if he knew – if he knew at all – Levi would never ask.

 


	24. no one knows (what it's like)

 

Erwin hears how they talk about him.

The officials, who crowd the Consulate corridors, careening around him as he makes his bi-monthly visits. 

( _There’s a man_ , they pass along to the inner city circles, _who’ll do anything to keep the Legion afloat_.)

The Middle Sina citizens, who praise the Legion’s name, hold their tongue until he’s out of earshot. 

( _There’s a man_ , they ridicule, mock-reverent, _who’ll carry the hope of Humanity on his shoulders_.)

The vizier who serves as ambassador for his division and officers of rank, himself included, is no different.

( _There’s a man,_ the emissaries howl, _who’ll get on his knees before paying back the Legion’s dues_.)

None of them are wrong.

But he doesn’t expect any of them to be right.

Nor anything close to it.

 

* * *

 

Erwin doesn’t intervene, allows them to talk as they will. 

If they mislabel him, if they misjudge him, then it’s their loss.  Not his. 

His losses are different – innumerable, intangible, internalized.

Learning to compartmentalize his personal values from his professional ethics, as a Commander, is priority number one of someone in his position.

The soldiers who are loyal to the cause, loyal to him, still standing. 

The young men and women lost, honored to the staccato timbre of an elegy chiming out _too soon_. 

The ones he’s spoken to on multiple occasions, exchanged idle chatter over coffee.

The ones he’s never spoken to before, let alone spared a nod glance.

All of these lives, irreplaceable, reduced to a name on an obituary plaque.

But Erwin knows they do not know of such sacrifices, nor do they know what sort of man he can be, so he lets them misconceive.

 

* * *

 

“Have you ever thought about telling them off?”

“Not at all.”

“Not even **once**?”

“Not even once, Zoë.”

“But it doesn’t bother you,” Zoë asks, bleary sidelong glance behind spectacles a far cry from her earlier canine-bared visage when the less subtle gossipmongers chatter in their far corners came within earshot, “when they talk about you like that?”

Erwin doesn’t answer. 

At first.

“Of course it does,” Erwin admits eventually, once they’re back to the clandestine confines of his office where Mike and Nanaba are already waiting for them.  “But I’d be foolish to let them see as much.  It would give them more ammunition to cast a shadow on the name of the Legion, if I reacted to such obvious provocation.”

“That’s our Commander,” Nanaba all but chirps, Mike’s sage nod joining their accordance.

It’s just as well, Erwin thinks.

His laughter is joined by a circle of soldiers of rank who deserve his undivided attention and perseverance.

And so the meeting of like minds, the private joke among the Legion’s finest, commences from there.

 


	25. so i say no (to the status quo)

Erwin knows what they say about Levi, too.

From the day he brought the Underground Crow before the Consulate round table to the moment thirty-seven members of the most recently graduated Trainee Squad stayed behind after the Scouting Legion’s assembly, Erwin shook off every word, every utterance, every accusation. 

If asked to recite them, he could. 

If asked, he could recount entire conversations, rendered them again in accurate detail.

_Criminal._

_Thug._

_Hoodlum._  

Debatable, Erwin would remark in a noncommittal hum, since Levi may have been one by association. 

But he also learned over the years from interrogation and his own information-gathering sources that Levi was more their messenger rather than their prizefighter. 

And what other purpose is there to fight in this world, if not to stay alive?

He sees that much in Levi, in how the daily struggle led his charge to learn unconventional combat techniques out on the streets, war tales of his own to share from scuffles lost and confrontations won.

He sees that much in Levi, in the results of which mark his body to the current day, scars that run far deeper than the visible irregularities on his skin.

Erwin knows of these things well, sees in Levi’s eyes how the embers smolder and relight, finds a form of inspiration in how much strength still lies beneath the surface. 

Has Levi been an accomplice to atrocities and crimes he may never repent for in his lifetime?

Perhaps. 

But Levi does not deny his past – though, to wipe the slate of his criminal record, they’ve had to expunge some choice details – so Erwin would never dream of denying his history any sooner than the stories Levi sometimes tells him on a whim.

Stories of his former life, before he went from the backstreets of Lower Sina to the bastion of a Headquarter base they now called home.

Stories of his former self, before he declined the offer to take on a borrowed surname and given name in favor of keeping the one he already had.

Stories of a life once lived, once undervalued – and, now, meant more to Erwin than he could ever say.

 

* * *

 

_Monster._

_Mongrel._

_Mole._

If Levi is a spy, Erwin resists the urge to laugh at the thought, then he’s the strangest Erwin’s ever known.

Aside from his straight-laced tendencies and straightforward speech, Levi puts up virtually no pretenses when he speaks to Erwin. 

From the day they met, Levi has always been honest with him.

If he isn’t, Erwin wants reasons and a show of remorse in a direct conversation – or, if none of these things, then he wants a guarantee it won’t happen again.

He’s had to raise his hand to the boy once.

Once.   

Once, as it turned out, was all it took.

When the subject arises, Erwin needs only to remind Levi of what transpired before his charge goes quiet. 

Seldom does it exceed any further snide remarks. 

If it does, Levi can’t look him in the eye as he says it, which tells Erwin that Levi can’t mean what he says, and – from there – the subject is dropped.

Completely. 

No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

_Don’t bring that shit up again, old man, come **on**._

He usually laughs it off after that, laughs about it until they move onto another lighter talk.

(When it happened, it was far from a laughing matter.

—Why was it that he lost his temper in the first place?

He can’t recall.)

Erwin almost never succumbs to emotional reactions, let alone in front of a subordinate. 

A subordinate who, taken off the streets and taken in by Erwin, has a penchant for demoralizing and shattering the nerves of even the strongest of soldiers.

But he’s only a boy, Erwin sometimes forgets, a boy in mind and spirit.

Only a boy, Erwin reminds his conscience every day.

Only a boy. 

But despite having no formal education to speak of, Levi can read people well – perhaps a little too well.

He knows how to push people’s buttons, knows what to say and do to regain a person’s attention.

If he’s a touch theatrical at times, Erwin chalks it up to his exposure to the flashier individuals whom Levi encountered and exchanged goods with and, perhaps, even admired.

It didn’t help that week had already been a tiresome one for Erwin.

His days had been filled with condescending lectures from the higher-ups and a particularly battering set of court meetings for law-abiding citizens who, for one reason or another, chose to sneak into and engage in petty crimes around the Legion HQ grounds.

Now, thinking on it in retrospect, the timing had been near impeccable. 

How Levi goaded him into a fit of rage comparable to the throes of battle with a rouge Titan, Erwin hasn’t the slightest idea.

How that brawl in the barracks instigated by a trainee who chose the worst possible week to exacerbate Levi’s temper started, Erwin neither knows nor cares.

But he remembers the instant he lost his bearings for the first time ever as a Commander.

He remembers the instant he stormed forward, the instant his closed fist made impact, and once the fading flares of fury returned vision to him, he looked down at his hands and Levi’s crouched form to find they were both shaking.

He remembers thinking, saying to the stunned silent boy kneeling on the floor of his office, next time, _next time_ —

Next time, he realizes looking back now, is a frightening thing.

(He never wants there to be a ‘next time’ like that, the shame felt the instant Levi picked himself up off the ground and shook his head at Erwin when Levi responds to his apology with a strange, almost vulnerable half-smile, that _it’s okay, I deserved that one, but – next time – I’m gonna hit you twice as hard right back._ ) 

 

* * *

 

_Wall Cultist._

_Sympathizer_.

_The Commander’s Little Pet._

Erwin has no doubt – the first two, at least – are weak charges.

Levi despises the idea of Religion almost as much as the government structure. 

If he could, he would take his blades to its personified form, just to “hear those self-righteous fuckers squeal.“

He stakes little faith in social hierarchy as a sign of success and longevity, stakes less to nothing in unseen forces of a holy spirit or the immaterial forces that be.

Erwin’s grandfather’s study, and the extensive library connected to it, had a few books on the Old World religions. 

So while Erwin’s family never partook in any of the Wall Cultists’ sermons, he knows the bare essentials of several Religions that existed before the Walls were erected.

When he tries to imagine a world much wider, much bigger, much more peaceful than this, Erwin struggles. 

Even now, he struggles to imagine what it must have been like.

Bodies of water brilliantly blue, stretching for kilometers without end.

 

Fertile grasslands and expansive forests, marked by exquisitely temperate climates, species of animals far more unique than ever seen before and plant life of medicinal and aesthetic value.

Sloping valleys and massive mountain peaks that made the Walls themselves appear diminutive.

 _If this were the world Humanity had been granted by the deities_ , Erwin thinks, a touch rueful, _it would have been a world worth protecting, indeed._

Levi thinks otherwise.

“The reason the Old World collapsed was because everyone ended up trying to kill each other over what they believed in.”  Former runner for the Underground or not, Levi not only learned how to read from one of his ‘older brother’ figures who worked for the mafia but was a voracious reader, consuming books whenever and wherever he could acquire them.  “And just before mass genocide was about to break loose all hell, the Titans reared their ugly-ass heads to finish the job.”

“Or so the story goes.”  Erwin isn’t sure this counts as typical evening meal conversation, but he prefers the freedom their dining room table offers rather than having to watch out for too-keen listeners.  “Do you consider the Titans sweeping in to ‘finish the job’ a form of divine justice, then?”

“Not really,” says Levi, snatching a forkful of meat from Erwin’s plate.  “Just bad timing.”

Erwin slides Levi’s tea cup over to his side of the table, earns himself a pointed look in retaliation.

“That,” the older man pushes the dish back over (he would never understand how Levi enjoys tea with this much sugar) after taking a sip, “counts for bad timing on your part.  You could have stopped me.”

“Knowing you,” Levi, long done eating, uncrosses his legs to let one rest between the wooden planks of the table and the other against Erwin’s ankle, “you’d probably do it, anyway.“

“Knowing how easy it is to rile you up about your tea,” Erwin shakes his head, all too compliant, “you’re probably right.”

The truth of the third and final accusation about Levi is harder to deny, given how domesticated Levi’s become over the years. 

But whatever they witness in Levi’s spontaneity indulged, in Levi’s uncouth comments overlooked, in Levi’s habit of casual tactility where the Commander is concerned despite the fact that – if anyone else were to reach out to touch him – the soldier would put them in an immediate chokehold, Erwin lets them think it.

Let them think what they will, he decided a long time ago.

Let them believe what they will, he decided as soon as Levi started to confide in him about things, slowly but surely.

“Cheeky bastard.”  Levi hops from his chair, grabbing his dishes in a rising swoop.

“I thought it was this cheeky bastard’s turn,” Erwin chuckles, getting up to join him, “to do the dishes.”

“Then bring your shit over to the sink already.”  Back turned, the almost regrown patch of hair at the back of Levi’s neck is visible.  “Or are all bets off when you’re not in Commander mode and taking orders from the big guys with not-so-big balls?”

Let them think what they will, Erwin decides as he leans over to take the drying rag from the shorter male’s outstretched hand and lingers (just to test the waters, just to study the visible tension at Levi’s small shoulders and the roving glance over where their hands brush) just enough to be called noticeable.

“I think we both know,” it’s harder to offer genuine smiles, these days, the longer he reasons to wait until _next time_ , _next year_ , _after our next expedition beyond the Walls_ , “who I take orders from when it’s just the two of us.”

The reaction he gets is more than worth the sting of dishwater in his eyes – even if the spreading flush to Levi’s cheeks finds itself mirrored on his own face once he turns away, staggering away more self-conscious than anything than out of stupefaction over the younger one’s insisting he’d do the dishes himself.

(Whether it’s worth the uncomfortable night of sleep that follows, of course, is – perhaps – the only matter left for debate.)

 

* * *

 

But, really, the critics can say what they’d like about him as a Commander or the Legion at large. 

They don’t bother him anymore, not when he’s stopped listening to the charges placed against him.

However, not one of them would ever be allowed to tarnish Levi’s reputation. 

Erwin won’t stand for that.

So instead of standing for it, he decides to sit for it. 

At his desk. 

Penning, while he’s wide awake, a formal advancement permission letter for _a most suitable and appropriate candidate for promotion to Lance Corporal_ – or Captain, he recalls, as the newly adopted term for the rank has now been dubbed.

If nothing else, this will ensure more people will take the Legion as seriously as it deserves to be taken – and, best of all, will shake up the hypocritical charlatans of the upper crust the most surefire way of all.

 


	26. transitional transcendence

“Mail call,” the epicene voice slips beneath the doorframe – as does an envelope, pushed seal-first into his office – after several knocks. 

Erwin doesn’t even have to leave his seat.

“Thank you, Nanaba.”  Then, at a moment’s pause, he adds a bit louder:  “Ah, actually.  Did you tell Mike to pass on my message for—?”

“Already done.”  Nanaba practically sings from farther down the hall.  “And if Mikey gets busy, I’ll let Little Levi know personally!”

“Thank you, Nanaba,” Erwin says again, a nod and a brief laugh to follow.

He didn’t expect Nanaba to see or hear it, not when the enlivened humming down the corridor recommences.

Then again, he tries not to expect anything these days – least of all from the higher-ups.

Speaking of which. 

Erwin bends over to retrieve the stack of letters bundled and slid all the way to the foot of his desk.  Sure enough, there it was: marked by the seal of the Consulate office.

His reply finally arrived.

How long had it been?  Two weeks?  No, it had been bordering three weeks now since he made his suggestion at the Consulate assembly. 

( _To think the Commander of the Legion would have the gall to ask such a thing—_

_Shameless, really, given how many donations they’ve been given—_

_Not to mention all the concessions after they failed to glean anything from this month’s expedition—_ )

After that rally of a caucus debriefing – and all of the far from imperceptible stirrings of protests once they adjourned for the day – Erwin anticipated nothing less than a rejection letter. 

( _Forget about promoting a rabid dog like ‘him’ to Captain status—_

_We don’t even have a Captain rank anymore, do we—?_

_They should bring the Commander and his little dog before the King to let him decide how to deal with this insolence—_ )

Gripping the handle of his letter opener, a swift slice beneath the pallid surface, it’s only once he’s returned it to his drawer with white-tipped knuckles only after he began to reconsider.

Pixis.                                

“That man’s quite the eccentric, alright.” 

Even with the window ajar to allow in the fading autumn breeze, Erwin had no qualms about talking to himself in his own office. 

It did make him wonder, however, if he was as peculiar as Pixis, who had spoken for him at the meeting to offer endorsement for his suggestion before the incensed committee.

Still, there were other, more peculiar matters to consider.

Why it took three weeks for a memo like **this** from the Inner Capital bureau to reach him, for example.

Or whether it was because Zoë let something slip to the scouts about his promotion plans or whether it was Pixis’ irredeemable capriciousness that led to this.

Or why Mike, standing in his office doorway (Nanaba, Erwin knew, likely left it open in their haste to get back to reconvening with their squad) had scarcely moved an inch before the Commander was on his feet to meet him.

“Was it the standard rejection letter format,” Mike’s sardonicism gives way to a slight stagger when Erwin sweeps by without taking his coffee, “or did they aim for a little creativity this time around?”

Though he’s already on the verge of rounding a corner, Erwin stops only to let Mike catch up.

“Neither.” Erwin doesn’t turn on his heel, motions for his old friend to shut and lock his office door in his stead.  “Which is why I think it’s time we exercise a bit of creativity of our own.”

“For what?” 

Mike can’t see how wide his growing smile is, not when he’s trailing unswerving after the older man’s coattails, but that’s just as well. 

Erwin resists the urge to sprint down the corridor, his excitement no less palpable.

“Because it’ll take a very convincing argument,” Erwin’s strides quicken at the stirrings that jump-start his restlessness all over again, “to get Levi used to the idea of being called Captain.”


	27. under your command (i'll steady your hand)

“How do you feel about the sound of ‘Captain Levi’?”

His mare whinnies and rears back when the tipped-over bucketful of water lands none too gently at its feet, but Levi’s struck silent for a good fifteen seconds.

“Holy shit.”

“Now, now,” Erwin laughs, glad to have found Levi here of all places rather than among the other scouts, “the outhouse has nothing to do with what the Consulate decided.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Levi says, louder this time.  A far better reaction than the older man expected.  “Wait, so they sent word to you to let you know, but— what’d you send back to them?”

“The letter came to me within the hour,” he neglects to mention to Levi that he made several stops on his way to the stables, leaving Mike to relay to Nanaba a message for all the trainees to return to the barracks’ meeting hall twenty-minutes before curfew was over to make the official announcement.  “So I haven’t sent back any reply yet.”

“Good.”  Levi maneuvers around him to turn the fallen pail back to its upright position.  “Better they’re the ones waiting on us for once.”   

He stands out of Levi’s way, then, not wanting to keep him from cleaning.

“Are you alright with it, though?”  Goodness knows he’s asked Levi enough times since he brought the proposal to Levi when the season first began, but it never hurts to ask again.

“I told you,” Levi’s voice, noncommittal, drifts from inside the stable stall, “I don’t care either way.”

Erwin stares at the rafters, heaving sigh masked by the chuff of a neigh from Levi’s ever-restless horse.

“If you didn’t care either way,” he takes the hay fork held out to him from behind the partition, a damp towel on standby for Levi’s to wipe his hands, “then why the reaction?”

He expects a dark look, if not a virulent glare from the younger one, once he’s done shooing the horse back into its stall. 

A kick to his shins, perhaps, if the newly-deigned Captain’s routine for tending to his horse meant he was in as foul a mood as Erwin assumes he is.

Instead, he doesn’t even see Levi until his quiet upturned gaze and lissome form drawn close.

Very close.

“Alright,” Erwin’s restiveness fades when the end of Levi’s mouth contorts (it’s not a smile, not quite, because he’d know a smile on Levi’s face sooner than he does this) and the shorter man affirms, “’fess up.  This whole ‘promote your live-in legionnaire at least two ranks higher’ thing – you’ve got some crazy-ass master plan, don’t you?”

“If not for the fact we were living together,” Erwin quips, no hesitation to the way he meets Levi’s unblinking stare, “I’d reprimand you for your insubordination, soldier.”

“Whatever it is,” Levi presses forward, well-nigh on his toes, “I want in on it.”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell anyone,” his low tone, disparaging, “who doesn’t ‘care either way.’”

He forgets, sometimes.

Raised among the tenacious and tough-skinned, taught the implications of ‘survival of the fittest’ from a tender age, Levi can be positively vicious.

Not unlike when they first met, Levi has him sprawling backwards. 

He hits the ground, back-first, and Levi’s crouched over him faster than he can recover his sense of balance.

Except, this time, he’s learned not to let his better judgment and instincts fall behind.

Misses, swings, grappling at air.  

An unplanned struggle.

Improvised sparring, the first session Erwin’s had in years.

A punch to his jaw – the first and second only grazes his cheek but those don’t count – hard enough to make him reel back and realize the cuff was hard enough to draw blood.

A solid blow – his pulse soars, wrestling and flipping over the slighter male is almost effortless after that, the energy coursing through his veins far less about the regained leverage and control than the sight of Levi shrouded under his shadow, pinned beneath him, eyes all-consuming and audacious and ablaze with such persistence, such verve, such _potential_ – landed to his shoulder in retaliation.

Stagnancy, as unversed as it is sudden, pervading the silent air apart from their shallow gasps and the shuffle-snuffs of the horses in their stalls – recognizing dimly, like ink blots on wet paper, what just transpired.

They separate, both flat on their backs and looking up at the rafters.

“Would someone who didn’t care if I didn’t care—” Derisive as it sounds, Levi’s rumpled state of dress and disheveled hair do little to convince Erwin that he looks any better right now.  “—put up a fight like that?”

“When have you ever,” Erwin chides to the shuddering exhale of a laugh, “not put up a fight about anything?  I can’t think of a single time you haven’t, not for as long as we’ve known each other.”

Levi turns onto his side, nothing less than petulant.

“I followed you out of Lower Sina three years ago,” the former Underground runner murmurs, light fingertips leaning along the start of his wrist, “didn’t I?”

Breathtaking, Erwin realizes, is a word not formulated but felt.

More reasonable than he was for the time being, he would call the swelling warmth in his chest adrenaline’s aftereffects.  

More sensible than he had been prior to joining the Legion, he would call the unwavering trust in his charge foolhardy.

More unaffected than he knew he had the capacity to be at that moment, Erwin wouldn’t have understood then, startled to clarity as much as those eyes unfold him.

His hands are small, tinier fingertips held in his palm even smaller. 

Cool and rough to the touch as they are, compared the length of his, Erwin finds they’re the perfect size to fit between the interlocked spaces – though they’re not a perfect fit. 

But they’re close enough.

“It was your choice.”  A reminder more to himself than anything, Erwin struggles to keep his expression in check; a smile as mild as it was practiced, stretched over the skin like a veil.  “And you followed me for longer than three years if we include the months where you were, as Zoë put it, 'stalking' me.” 

“Why are we talking about this?” 

“Why shouldn't we talk about this?”

“Because we agreed not to ever bring that up again.  Ever.”  The light in Levi’s eyes is chagrined insofar as the languid huff that follows.  “And Shitty Four-Eyes can say whatever she wants. I wasn't stalking you—!”

Erwin holds the hand in his tighter, pulling them both to standing.

"Honesty in disclosure is a virtue, Captain Levi."

"And disclosure with your direct subordinates,” Levi surprises him, as always, by holding on when he tries to pull away, “is priority number one, Commander Erwin."

"Touché," comes Erwin's wry rejoinder, retracting his hand so that their idle jostling won’t turn into another barn house brawl match.  "Then – shall we make a deal?  Your reasoning behind why you decided to follow me in exchange for my reasoning for promoting you to head soldier."

He freezes in the middle of brushing down his attire of hay and horsehair.

As soon as Levi turns away from Erwin to retrieve his fallen Legion cloak, the older man begins to wonder if he spoke too soon.

“You never seemed interested before.”  The stillness, instable as it is, splinters at the stalled remark. 

It’s a question, Erwin thinks after several beats of silence, he’s never even considered.

“You never gave me an explicit reason before.”  He doesn’t mean for it to sound sardonic; when Levi’s brows draw together, he adds, “Though I suppose it’s my own fault, since I’ve never asked you directly.”  

When Levi starts heading out of the stables, Erwin takes that to mean they’ll talk as they walk.

Levi walks ahead of him, though, all the way to the scouts’ barracks. 

He wonders if Levi means to walk there, as opposed to their private living quarters set aside from the main Headquarters, or if he’s forgotten about the taller one’s presence trailing after him.

It isn’t until Levi’s heels click together and he stops, so abrupt that Erwin almost crashes into him, that the Commander hears him speak again.

"I wanted to see for myself," they’re on the last of the winding paths leading back to the barracks, daytime retreating as surely as their two shadows meld into one, "what kind of person would proposition a complete stranger."

He turns around, then, stepping back a few steps from Erwin.

When Levi turns about face, his left arm folded at his back, the straightened line of his shoulders decorous and relaxed all at once.

When Levi turns about face, his right hand wound into a fist, the insignia at his breast pocket lies in plain view.

When Erwin realizes the significance of it – the implications of what Levi’s just done – his face can hardly contain his elation.

“Then I suppose I should ask,” a vague chuckle, “what kind of person am I to you?"

Levi's silver-bright gaze casts flint sparks no longer sharp, no longer unaffected.

Levi’s salute is no less magnificent than the luminescent afterglow of sunset’s deepening horizon lines, washed gold and bronze and grandiose.

Levi was—

“The first person," it can’t be quite called a smile (not on Levi’s face, not on any one of the countless faces he’s encountered in twenty-seven years and counting) but in that single moment, that wry twist of Levi’s lips is more than enough, “to ever earn – and deserve – my trust.”

 

* * *

 

_I swear allegiance to the Legion,_

_which stands for Humanity’s Hope,_

_and to a greater cause_

_not by the virtues of one’s offered heart_

_but to what only an army of many can accomplish._

* * *

Such was the finale of his speech, the culmination of his careful constructed conference in front of the remaining graduates.

Such, too, was the sentiment echoed by each of the veteran scouts as they distributed the new recruits’ official uniforms, the same sentiment shared their verdant capes flock and flutter to the rush of  gales sweeping through the rising gates on the verge of their first expedition beyond the Walls.

Such was the constant reminder of the one – the only – thing he’s chosen to believe in wholeheartedly over the years, nihilism and fatalism over his decisions as Commander notwithstanding.

No longer.

Commander Smith, now, chooses to believe in no one but himself.

As Commander of the Scouting Legion, he feels nothing but a civil duty where his soldiers are concerned, willing to sacrifice the lives of brave men and women in service for the sake of all those living within the Walls.

As Commander of the Scouting Legion, his responsibility knows no bounds in regards to those who carry the weight of their Wings of Freedom, a burden no other division within the once united frontlines of the army would dare to uphold.

As Commander, Erwin Smith is an unequivocal speaker, an unparalleled leader, an irrevocable part of what keeps the Legion afloat today.

So the stories go.

 

* * *

 

But there will be stories which remain untold.

Stories, in scattered recollection, of self-doubt and solidarity secured by a single encounter.

Stories, undetailed to biographical accounts and history books rewritten, of cornerstones and companionship unlike anything the Commander has ever known.

Stories, told within the context of a much larger, much grander narrative: of how Erwin Smith offered _his_ heart not to the fleeting phantom of a smile and momentary kindness but to a man in the silhouette of a boy raised in the slums of Lower Sina but from the moment their paths crossed.

Levi – his Captain, his pride and joy as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, _his_ – would be the one and only person Erwin ever believed in from the start.

 


	28. the way we push (the way we pull)

The coldest winter arrives.

They’ve been fortunate not to have lost near as many as they had in the past, though one might consider their losses and gains all but relative. 

Natural progression, much as the term haunts Erwin, is the only way to think of it.

But they’re fortunate to have Pixis’s support and extra reinforcements from the Garrison to join their reserve training sessions.  They’re fortunate, too, that their new recruits were able to handle expeditions and the shifting emphasis on group training surprisingly well. 

Erwin hopes, perhaps, this will be their chance (though he hopes as much every time he watches the ‘fresh blood’ during their training regiments, the young growing older right before his eyes at each month’s progression) to bring the Recon Corps back to its former glory.

Even after the first snow drifts appear, he’s confident they’ll make it to spring.

Expeditions grow farther and fewer in between due to lack of visible sunlight and dwindling resources. 

It leaves them no choice but to start cutting back, wherever and whenever they can.

The Scouting Legion is far from top priority.  That much is no secret to near everyone within the reinforced Walls, from the borders of the once-standing Wall Maria to as far the upper-crust sector of Sina.

In fact, the Inner District seemed the only locale yet to be informed.

Then again, they’ve plenty to consider as of late too.

With the grand Coronation ceremony just around the corner, those among the upper crust were keeping the King’s men more than occupied with their banquet preparations and forthcoming parties.

Parties, Erwin suspects, he’s been invited to as little more than a courtesy gesture.

But given the scale of such celebration and the receptions involved, Erwin decides staying in the Capital for the week would be for the best.

“We’ll watch the kids for you,” Nanaba enthuses, tugging Mike back by the sleeve as they dismiss the last of Erwin’s doubts about promoting the free-spirited Medic to an officially ranked soldier.  “So go and show those high-society pricks who’s boss!”

“But aren’t you planning,” Mike chimes, nostrils flaring, “on bringing someone with you, Erwin?”

“I am.”  It’s worth it just to see Nanaba’s miffed reaction, taking to cling at Mike’s arm and hiss a none-too-hushed _who’s he taking with him why didn’t I didn’t hear about this Mike Mike Mikeeeeee_ under their breath.  “The hotel arrangements have already been made, so I’m just hoping they won’t decline.”

“Highly unlikely,” Mike snorts, though his sneer is unusually tempered, “since he’s never turned down anything you’ve asked of him before.”

While Mike’s probably right, Erwin muses, he decides to placate a piteous Nanaba in the meanwhile. 

“I hope you’re right,” says Erwin, “but I’ll make sure Mike gives you all the dirty details, Nanaba, once I’ve gotten a surefire ‘yes.’”   

“You’d better,” Nanaba preens, glancing up at Mike and earning a soft pat from the taller Squad Leader to austere strands, a sign of how close the two have gotten as of late.  “But don’t worry!  We’ll hold down the fort here ’till you come back.”

“Of course.”  Erwin nods and smiles before they send themselves back to their respective posts.  “I wouldn’t think to leave the Legion in any more capable hands.”

 

* * *

 

Zoë – on the other hand – was considerably harder to convince.

“They should’ve made it Legion-wide attendance,” are the first words out of Zoë’s mouth. 

“Large as the Grand Hall is,” Erwin reasons, “I’m sure the Consulate would have even more to say if I brought all of you and the scouts along with me.”  He considers it for a brief, whimsical second.  “Granted, it would be nice to give our scouts the experience of seeing the Capital.”

“Not one of them from the Inner District this year,” the curve of Zoë’s smile diffuses, “huh?”

Erwin exhales slowly, fingertips idle at the corner of the latest research notes Zoë’s given him to review on his trip.

“I suspect Katka and Deveron are, despite their records indicating otherwise.”

“You think they registered under pseudonyms,” inquires Zoë, “like you thought of doing?”

“Perhaps.”  The thick pages sticking out from the binding dig into his fingertips.  “Then again, it’s perfectly possible they’re from the Southern District as indicated, but I’ve yet to know a Southern District teen who hasn’t been to Water’s Edge bakery.”

Zoë’s laugh is indulgent. “Not all of us can be as well-traveled as you, Commander.”

“Well-traveled,” Erwin shakes his head, tucking the pocket-sized notebook into his jacket, “is merely a matter of perspective.”

Zoë is strangely quiet as he makes his way to the door.

“Erwin.”  He’s thought of her by given name, called her as much for more years than he cares to count, but he’s never seen her look anything less than dedicated, already back to the untouched ledger sitting atop her work desk.  “You told him why you promoted him to Captain, didn’t you?  Why you’re doing all this ass-kissing and running around for the Consulate these days?”

So that was it.

He moves away from the door, turning right back around to face Zoë.

“I’ve told him as much as shaking up the status quo a bit.”  A partial truth.  What Erwin wants for the future of the Legion extends much further than upheavals from their current positions of power.  “He took to the answer about as well as I’d hoped.”

“And by that,” the office chair swivels to reveal Zoë’s nod of approval, “he called you out on your bullshit.”

Erwin, to his own surprise, laughs.

“You two,” it’s hardly a belated observation, “really are quite similar.”

“I guess.”  Halfhearted of a reply as it was, Zoë’s slight grin belies their shared amusement.  “So similar I can literally see the way he’d claw at you for saying that.”

“Well,” Erwin smiles back, deeming it safe to turn the handle and open her office door again, “I don’t speak with a forked tongue.  You know that just as well, Zoë.”

“I know.”  At least, he notes, her smile has returned.  “Have a safe trip, Commander.  If he tries to back out of it…I’ll convince him.  One way or another.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”  _I appreciate you_ , lingers the unvoiced avowal, and he hopes they’ll have many years more together to tell her, tell all of them.  “And I’ll be counting on you.”

He leaves Zoë’s office, then.

Of course, he gets about as far as the junction at the end of the hall until he stops outright.

Until, that is, Erwin stops outright to call out to the person he had been looking for all day.

“Captain.” Several months later, the title still feels foreign; he suspects, from the way the younger man never fails to turn and look the moment he hears it, that it’s only him who feels as much. “Afternoon training finished early on account of the inclement weather, so I’m surprised to see you still out and about.”

“Cleaning.”  A single word, a simple explanation.  It’s enough for Erwin, who nods at the punctuated statement.

But that’s not all.

“So I’m heading back now.”  Levi pauses for another half-beat until he begins a steady trot in the direction of Erwin’s office.  “Laundry’s still outside on the patio.”

“We’d better take the clothes in before the storm gets here.”  There were some last-minute forms to be filed and several leftover piles of paperwork to be sorted as always, but those could wait.

“I’ll do it,” Levi says, so firm that Erwin can tell there’s no room for argument.  “If it bothers you that much, when you’re done doing whatever Commander shit you’ve got left on your agenda, you can help me fold the clothes.”

He’s restless, Erwin knows.

So he thinks better against arguing with Levi, choosing instead to quietly fall into step at his Captain’s side.

 

* * *

 

From across the polished floorboard to the coat hanger adjacent to the entrance of his office, failing daylight shrouds his office in faded color.

Levi has long returned from the courtyard to rescue their clothes, now sprawled belly-up on the sofa with one of Erwin’s philosophy books propped open.  The front of the giant tome reads _Existentialism and the Traits of a Self-Cognizant Individual_ – or, rather, that’s what the cover should say.

Except it’s impossible to read upside down.

The laundered clothes sit in a large basket unfolded at a corner of his desk. 

Erwin pays them no mind. 

He recognizes this silence, recognizes this would indeed be the ideal time to ask him, in a rare moment of privacy and quiet where they finally have a chance to speak with one another. 

As it was, Erwin hadn’t eaten a proper dinner with him in weeks. 

Levi’s been busier, too, every bit as reticent around his new troops as he was around strangers, a Captain ruling the roost at the barracks and taking up substitute 3DMG training since their last expedition (thirty-percent did not return, he recalls, though it’s a moderate amount by comparison to their excursion the month previous) as their best instructor had yet to be replaced.

Substitute or not, Levi as Captain was a reliable answer to the Legion’s quandary. 

He was averse to the idea, at first, of spending nights out on the base up until his new handpicked squad helped him acclimate to the temporary home. 

But they were his comrades now – Petra, Eld, Auruo, and Gunter – and they were, according to Levi, the best of the bunch.

Erwin didn’t doubt Levi’s intuition, either, because for someone as young and still adjusting to his leadership role as he was, Levi’s combat skills and self-awareness were top-notch. 

And knowing Levi, he would expect nothing less from soldiers he selected.

“Next week, I’ll be going to the Capital.”  The instant he says it, Levi picks his head up.  “The King’s Coronation Banquet is scheduled for the following weekend and, apparently, the Legion’s been invited.”

“You mean,” the dark-haired male leans unceremoniously over the arms of the couch, “ _you’ve_ been invited.”

“The envelope did feature my name on the front of it, yes.”  After slight chuckle, Erwin places his pen down.  “But I was planning on having you come along with me.”

The book hits the floor pages first.

“No way.”  Exasperated as Erwin feels, Levi’s horrified look as he scrambles to a sitting position almost comical.  “No.  Fucking.  Way.  I’m not dressing up for those self-important pigs, Erwin—!”

“Very well.  I suppose the alternative’s not so bad.”  It’s a low blow and Erwin knows it, but he’s got another bargaining chip to toss out: “You could stay here, safe at the Legion, stewing away with nothing to do while this storm blows over for the next week and keeps everyone here holed up indoors until it’s over.”

Levi scowls. 

“I’m not dressing up,” he says again.  “Not for those…heathens.”

Erwin rising from his chair, picking up the laundry basket along his way, removing his shoes so he can take his place facing Levi on the other end of the sofa.

“According to some,” Erwin quips, “you deserve that label far more for not declaring a Religious Affiliation.”

“Those Cultists Pigs can take their Religious Affiliations and shove it up their asses.”  Scooting closer until their sock-covered soles are side by side, Levi snatches several shirts right from the basket, leaving Erwin to divvy the remaining clothes.  “And anyone else who doesn’t practice what they preach can keep their sermons to themselves.”

“Levi,” clucks Erwin, more amused than aggravated, “we’re not going to the Church.” 

“I know that,” Levi huffs, placing Erwin’s shirts under his own at the bottom of the laundry basket.  “But since they can’t exactly eat their Bibles, I’m sure they’ll be there at the banquet.”

Not the slightest sign Levi was willing to budge.  Alright, Erwin decides, time to try a different approach.

“Pastors or no, it’s being held in the Grand Hall of the castle.  Remember, where they had Princess Sophia’s birthday party last month?”

That, thankfully, elicits a more favorable reaction.

“You mean the place that used to be a castle armory?”  Levi lets out a snigger, more a splutter than anything, as he reaches over Erwin to take his last clean shirt.  “Where they still had huge-ass suits and shields built into the walls weren’t covered up by the tapestries?” 

“That’s the one.”  Erwin remembers it rather vividly, too, because of the way Levi had slumped over behind him cackling at one point (perhaps after downing as much Vine as he did that evening) because he’d found the ironclad mannequins so funny.  “So it’ll be held there.  You’ll be in familiar territory, really, and it’s not as though you’ll be left alone.”

Levi, seemingly focused on the task of folding Erwin’s socks into neat piles, did not answer him right away.

“You’re always doing that.”  Erwin, bewildered, waits for elaboration.  “Looking out for me.  Taking care of me.”  Near inaudible:  “It’s annoying.”

“Am I,” Erwin peers underneath the curtain of Levi’s bangs, sees his brow furrow and his lips turn up at their corners, contradictions uncovered, “annoying?”

“No.”  Instantaneous, a rebuttal Erwin never expects.  “You are when you treat me like I’m still that kid who ran into you in that alleyway, but not always.”

“Not always,” repeats Erwin, a careful murmur.  It’s silence that answers him, but that’s fine, too.  “I don’t think of you as a child, Levi, far from it.”

Whenever Levi’s in a mood for honesty, he’s never quite sure how to approach him. 

He’s never sure when an instant of integrity will yield into Levi confessing something or closing himself off again.  He’ll tell Erwin eventually, the Commander rationalizes each and every time it happens, when he’s ready.  So he gets used to the silences, even the uncomfortable ones, not wanting to force his past to be unwillingly divulged. 

Levi tips the pile of folded socks into the basket.

As soon as he looks up, it takes but a single look.

A single look for Erwin to understand.

“I’m not a child.”  It’s affirmation, not anger or anxiousness, and all at once Erwin’s gaze moves from the frost beginning to gather at the windowsill to the low gray light roused behind dark irises.  “I’m not your pet.  Or your pawn.  Or any of the other shit nicknames people’ve given me.”

His spare dress slacks slip right out of his hands when Levi leaps forward.

His face, forced down by a sound tug at his tie so hard the protest in Erwin’s throat emerges as a hollow yelp, struggles for composure when Levi takes to the open space between his legs, staring up at him with a challenge in his eyes. 

His conscience clamors for sentience, but his sense of sight takes over, concentration intent on taking in the smaller details.

Like the smatter of pale freckles speckled across the bridge of Levi’s nose.

Like the arch of Levi’s spine where a hand involuntary reached out to steady him.

Like the white fabric stretched over strong, sturdy thigh muscles.

Strong enough, he knows, a reminder that quells the dizzying surge of frigid warmth climbing from a place too low to be his stomach, to put a man at least three heads taller than him flat on his back in no time.

Dangerous as the prospect is, he feels the wintertime air sneaking into his office is far more dangerous, leaving him aching and wanting more of that warmth leaning into him.

“But I’ll do it,” Levi acquiesces, the crooked little cleft of his lips cruelly beckoning.  Tempting.  “On one condition.”

“Anything,” Erwin’s hand sidles to the incline of Levi’s hip, _self-restraint be damned_ , no mind paid to the urgency of thoughts roaring for reconsideration, “for you, my dear Captain.”

And then, suddenly, Levi slinks away, back on his feet again.

“While we’re in the city,” Levi reclaims the laundry basket faster than Erwin can blink, “buy yourself a set of matching socks.  And underwear, too.  As it is, these probably aren’t gonna last you through the winter at the rate you’re wearing through them.  Oh, and we’re definitely ordering new uniforms for the Spring, since those things are looking damn ragged lately, so make sure you’re getting paid more than the pittance they gave us last time for Sophia’s birthday party…”

 

* * *

 

(If his jaw feels looser than usual after Levi’s disappeared to their private quarters to put away the laundry – and if his uniform pants feel tighter than usual – then it’s for the best that no one, absolutely no one, ever needs to know.)

 


	29. we can't begin to know it (how much we really care)

“This isn’t your first time,” Erwin asks, leaning toward the wall at yet another sharp swerve around a bend, “in a carriage, is it?”

Rhetorical or not, the question twists Levi’s face into sour knots.

“I’m fine.”  Pressed to the opposite corner of the other side of the wagon, Levi looks even smaller than usual.

Erwin bites inside his cheek, smile curtailed successfully. 

“Then I presume,” Erwin shuffles over to make himself comfortable, encompassing the entire bench’s length, “you’re staying right where you are for the rest of the ride?”

“I’m fine.”  Had Erwin been a crueler man, the glib remarks wouldn’t have ended here.  The Captain repeats, once again:  “I’m fine.”

Although, Erwin reins his tacit smile back, they do say one good turn deserves another.

“Levi.”

The scathing look, along the telltale scowl, should be answer enough.

“What now?”

Barred replies aside, Erwin takes up new roots. 

Closer to the window, he finds himself privy to a panoramic view of the main district streets. 

They’ve slowed at familiar surroundings.  It’ll be another hour until they reach Sina’s limits, he estimates, and an even farther ride to their hotel awaiting them at the city outskirts.      

But in the flickering faces of children chasing one another down the street, the cartwheeling chorus of carnival goers, he finds the festering memories difficult to ignore.

At the split-second flash of a doe-eyed boy carrying a waiflike girl on his back as he ran down the sidewalk, his mind wanders back to freer days.

He thinks of Eliza, the late head housemaid’s daughter, brown ringlets and crooked flower circlets and a bigger thirst for exploring the estate grounds, how she clutched at his waist and waited for his afternoon tutor to leave the manor, beseeching—

_Aww, no fair…I want another piggyback ride through the garden…_

_The lilacs crown’s nice on your hair, but I think I like the hydrangeas better…these even match your eyes!_

_Hey, Big Bro, when I get good enough at the piano to do recitals, you’ll come to my shows, right—?_

“Once we’ve checked in,” Erwin returns to the present when he feels the slant of Levi’s form shifting closer, “shall we explore the Capital nightlife before the celebrations begin tomorrow?”

As soon as he unfastens his overcoat, Levi nestles into the unoccupied space between. 

“We’re eating first,” declares Levi, burrowing to soundlessness against his shoulder and cool hands ( _ah, so that was why he was huddled into himself before…_ ) reaching into his pockets before adding:  “You know the Capital way better than I do.  So.  Your choice.”

“Your choice,” Erwin insists.  “The nightlife has a certain charm about it, so I’d much rather decide on our after-dinner establishments.”  

“Barhopping?”  Levi wrinkles his nose, but his mouth quirks all the same.  “Don’t you have a reputation to uphold, Commander I-Just-Got-A-Ridiculous-Bonus-For-Agreeing-To-Kiss-Ass-At-The-King’s-Banquet Smith?”

“I would never,” croons Erwin, ever complacent, “do any such thing.  And neither would you…would you, my dear Captain?”

A rumbling laugh, elbow sharp against his side and the stray strands of Levi’s hair softer than expected as he brushes them back.

“Your Captain wouldn’t,” Levi retorts, eyes gleaming.  “But I would.”

 

* * *

 

The carriage ride was only a part of the larger deal. 

An all-expenses-paid hotel suite, more than large enough for two people to share. 

A fresh-pressed set of new uniforms sent at Erwin’s request, tailored to measurements Zoë had taken down so they wouldn’t be too large for Levi.

Insurance for their attendance in the form of sizable compensation as detailed in the P.S of his invitation letter.

Whether the gifts or fits of charity were because the noble folk had laundered money to throw around or the Consulate felt it necessary to give the Legion incentive to stay, he couldn’t say.

But, never one to refuse such generosity, Erwin decides to take their goodwill for whatever its worth, least of all when the opportunist in him clamored to take advantage of this veritable vacation.

It was far preferable to desk work and being left to his own devices – to the dwelling of his thoughts running dark – and any opportunity for more time with Levi was time well spent.

 

* * *

 

After they dropped their bags down in the hotel room, they were off again.

Hungry as they both were, it didn’t take long for Levi’s idle mumbles as they strolled past the main shopping plaza to deviate into a craving for meat.

It's a hint as much as it is a suggestion.

It's also, Erwin notes, a world away from the ambiguity of Levi’s behavior in the carriage ride earlier. 

He didn’t expect the smaller man to stop short on their way to the restaurant in front of a sweetshop window.

“What,” Levi breathes out, then takes a solid whiff of the aroma melding into the evening air as customers leave, “smells like someone just found the recipe for making the perfume form of eau de fucking ambrosia?”

“Oh,” Erwin smiles, blasé.  “You mean chocolate?”

“Chocolate?”  Good Sina help him— hungry for venison or not, Erwin finds it as difficult to imagine Levi’s eyes any wider as it is to smother the realization that Levi’s unadulterated confusion was almost _cute_.  “I’ve read about it in books before, but if that what it smells like…”

In the end, it takes little more than a polite inquiry and a few compliments to the bustling state of the shopkeeper’s business to earn them a sample of the sweetshop’s wares. 

Erwin’s not sure how a sampler of several confection types became two whole boxes of truffles, though.

Alright, maybe there was a reasonable explanation. 

Levi took one bite of each, announced they were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

Though that was the paraphrased version of what was said, he appeases his stinging ears, at the expense of his Captain’s more colorful vocabulary choices.

Levi also rationalized the following: that chocolate was Humanity’s Greatest Weapon against hunger, that great things really did come in small packages, and that – in the spirit of such gift-wrapped bundles of joy – they _had_ to bring a crate of the sweetshop’s best back to the Legion as souvenirs for everyone, since they were saving on hotel and transportation costs as it was, and – if nothing else – a box for the road trip back home would suffice.

Despite the fact that the entire Legion in years previous had been given the exact same gift from their Commander, Erwin walks to the cashier counter to make his purchases.

Levi, instructed to wait outside, all but tackles him and the chocolates to the pavement when he sees the paper bag in hand.

“Oh.  That reminds me.  That second box,” Levi protests through his vigorous munching, already picking out another fruit-filled truffle as they resume their walk to dinner, “was for you, not me.” 

“It didn’t sound that way,” Erwin quips, measured pace even so that Levi could follow after him, “when you were talking in the shop earlier.”

“What can I say?  Chocolate puts me in a better mood.”  

His eyes are bright when he stares up at Erwin, chocolate pinched between forefinger and thumb as he holds it out to the taller man. 

“Here.  You’re carrying the box, so I’ll let you have a taste.”

No matter how strong a man Erwin was rumored to be, the words foster more thought of unintended invitations than any signs of gratification.

“Just a taste?”

No matter how strong a man Erwin was rumored to be, the thought of pressing down with the blunt of his teeth and tracing outlines over those sweet-stained fingers under his tongue near lures him into an act of lasciviousness he would surely regret.

“Just a taste.”

No matter how much he wanted to lean down for a _taste_ , indeed, of something much more than chocolate, Erwin knew he wasn’t as strong at the thought of a sentiment far worse than regret—

“…Just a taste, then.”

(Indirect or outright, rejection, Erwin finds at the bittersweet flavor of pomegranate and dark chocolate, would be the most appropriate price to pay for his naivety.)

 


	30. the lines keep getting thinner (my age has never made me wise)

The following days of festivities Erwin recalls little to nothing of aside from the constant stream of introductions and reintroductions.

To every lord and lady, every castle butler and maid, every person who brushed past, he would greet them and acquaint them with Levi soon afterward. 

To every person who expressed interest in his attire – whether they were aware of his rank or not – he would ensure they knew of Levi’s name and rank as well.

_Well, well, you never mentioned a younger brother, Mister Smith._

_Is he your cousin?  If not cousin, then…nephew?_

_Oh, Commander, I had no idea you had a son!_

Apart from the misconceptions, by the end of the week, everyone’s eyes would stop on Levi without fail, nigh on double-takes depending on how much the variable partygoers heard from their associates.

At first, Erwin anticipates Levi’s resentment.

He expects the usual flare-up, the telltale twitch of his brow at the height of aggravation, the inevitable intervention intervenes whenever the issue of age and stature arises. 

It isn’t until the awkward peals of impromptu laughter no longer sound forced that Erwin finds there’s no need for concern.

There were other things, too, that lessen his uncertainty in the days to follow.

Like the fact that Erwin finds Levi at his most relaxed since they began this trip around children, who cling to his ankles and coerce him into a game of hide-and-seek and, contrary to Erwin’s expectations, Levi lets them, earning a hero’s “badge” made from paper after he retrieves their favorite ball from a tree overhanging the nearby manor’s balcony.

(“All I had to do was not look down,” Levi tells the waiting Erwin over the jubilant cries of children crowding the balcony railing once he was on safe ground again.  “Just like parkouring over rooftops in the slums.”)

Or the fact that Levi, at the remark in passing one night that they ought to compete to see who could win over more of the affluent families in attendance, not only procures more sponsors than Erwin but received several vouchers and even gifts from several councilmen congratulating him on reaching such a high rank at such a young age.

(“Dirty old man tried to grab at my ass.”  Levi makes a face, but it’s around the point when Erwin finds it near impossible to quell the sudden protectiveness that wells up within him that the younger man affirms, “He got a boot up his after I asked his sister to dance with me, though.”)

Or the fact that Levi’s experience from dealings with his Underground clientele served him well this week as well as his basic comprehension of several Old World languages – a discovery that startled Erwin as much as it did the group of wet-eared boys huddled at their corner table speaking ill of the Commander.

“If they were just criticizing my rank,” Erwin advises him on the carriage ride back to the hotel on their second-to-last evening in the Capital, “then let them talk.  I’ve long passed the point of letting what people think affect how I go about my days.”

“Like hell I’d let them talk,” Levi says, as if it were a personal affront.  “Look, you might be used to it by now, but some of the shit they were saying was just…”

When Levi stops short, the silence is loud enough that Erwin imagines the watch’s tiny cogs audible beneath the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Levi.”  Sotto voce, Erwin restrains the urge to reach out to the smaller man beside him.  “I appreciate what you tried to do tonight, but it’s the reputation of the Scouting Legion that needs protecting.  Not me.”

“‘In the name of Humanity’s Greatest Hope,’” lackluster recitation from the Legion’s alma mater as it is, Levi’s lips twitch at the implication, “’let us do more than raise our voices in counterattack’…what a load of bull.”

“And yet,” Erwin laughs, “you remember every word.”

“Just that part.”  The flash of teeth before Levi turns toward the window is enough to make Erwin’s own mouth quirk.  “Heard it so many times I’m getting a migraine talking about it.”

Silence, again, prevails against the grain of Erwin’s quiet counsel.

The wheels halt at the hotel’s front entrance.  Instinctively, Erwin scoots back to let Levi through the side door first.

But Levi hasn’t moved from his seat.

“We’ve arrived,” Erwin speaks as he exits the vehicle, unsure whether the Captain staring out the window meant his mind as well as his gaze wandered elsewhere, “at the hotel.”

“I know,” Levi exhales, sharp, fiddling with the frayed folds of the cravat fashioned around his neck as a makeshift scarf in replacement of the one Levi forgot back at the base.  “Damn coach took us on the scenic route.”

(Erwin gives no indication he’s heard.

When Levi mutters something faintly as he peeks his head out of the carriage, rubbing his palms together and sliding out of the booth to take Erwin’s proffered hand to help him down, Erwin doesn’t remark on it.

Still, it’s enough to hear and know for certain that Levi felt he was _just as important as protecting the Legion_ was enough – more than enough, even, to make the starless midwinter night appear that much brighter.)

  

* * *

 

 

“Swine.”

Basking in brief victory over the Vine bottle reclaimed, Erwin felt the need to clarify.  

“That’s strange.  I thought they were serving venison since it’s the last night all their guests will be here?” 

“I’m talking,” Levi reaches for his third plate of hors d'oeuvres, “about the unobservant prats who assumed I was your son.”

“Ah, yes,” clucks Erwin, onto his fourteenth going on fifteenth glass.  “Terrible misfortune.”

“Your son, Erwin.”

“Yes,” his vision swims as he reaches for the Vine container again, “I do believe you’ve said that.”

“Ugh, are you even listening to me?”  Forlorn, the Captain rests his cheek on the tablecloth.  “Fucking incompetent, unobservant swine.  You’re my superior officer, not my _dad_.”

“I couldn’t imagine a fate much worse,” Erwin can’t tell if it’s the effect of the alcohol or the fact they’ve both done nothing but listen to the gossip and going-ons of Sina locals and royal chamberlains over the last, but he’s more sardonic as the night goes on, self-possession and witticism on his loosened tongue, “or any greater humiliation.”

”I can,” huffs Levi.  “I mean, can you believe that one guy?  He was so plastered, that…Mar…Marv…” 

Pausing, the smaller man nodded his thanks to Erwin already refilling his cup. 

“…Shit.  I forgot whatever that old geezer’s name was.  But can you believe the nerve of this guy?  He totally thought I was your—” 

“To be fair,” Erwin has the grace, at least, to look chagrined, “the man was quite inebriated.  So I’m sure any indistinct blur in the form of a human being would have looked like a woman to him.”

Levi, irate, snatches the bottle from Erwin and downs the remaining liquid inside in one solid gulp.

“There.”  Erwin’s throat aches just having witnessed that act of defiance, inelegant and uninhibited.  “Alcohol’s done, the party’s migrated to the Main Hall, and we’ve done enough Vine-ing and dining for the rest of our sorry lives.  Time for you and your ‘wife’ to head back.”

“Back?”  Erwin starts, squints, stares at the refracted ballroom lights alight in Levi’s eyes.  “Back where?”

“To the hotel,” Levi grunts, letting Erwin slump his full weight against him as they stumble their way out of the near-emptied banquet hall, “so your drunk ass and your ingenious plans to schmooze up to our potential sponsors won’t get us into any more trouble.”

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, Levi – no prophet by any means – spoke far too soon.

“Nile.”  The entrance foyer leading out to the castle gates let in the cool air, sobering somewhat to his malt-muddled senses.  “Long time no see.”

Given his prestige, it was no surprise to Erwin to see his former bunkmate.

Donned in full uniform, Nile looked every bit the part of a dependent Military Police Chief.

Two years Erwin’s junior, an officer who rose to the top in a military sector tarnished by bribery and venality, Nile was a man built by lean muscle and austerity. 

Along with his change of uniform and status, the faint but visible five o'clock shadow spread over his severe face was also new. 

“Commander Smith.”  What took him by surprise him was Nile’s brusque half-turn elevated to a nod.  Keeping up appearances, then, for the sake of his recent rise in status?  “Polite as ever, I see.”

Then again, he recalls a moment too late, casual conversations had never been at the top of Nile’s list.

“Well, Chief Dawk,” Erwin’s stops at the doorframe’s edge that Nile leans against, perfunctory façade in place, “not all things change after graduation.”

“Indeed,” Nile replies, no less practiced in formalities but a glint to his eyes more than enough to stoke the old flame of self-declared rivalry from their trainee days.  “Some things never change.”

“Like that chip on your shoulder?”  A retort like that might seem acerbic to an eavesdropping nobleperson, but Erwin knew Nile better than that.  Not one to be outdone (and, perhaps, due to some influence from the alcohol consumed), Erwin adds, “All that aside, there have been a number of…changes to the Legion’s finer machinations.”

That gets Nile’s attention. 

“Such as?”

“Me.”  Levi chose this exact moment to reemerge from behind him, making Nile leap several centimeters off the ground.  “So, who’s this supposed to be?  An old friend of yours?”

It takes the once-comrades a beat or two (Erwin, even longer) to realize whom Levi meant to ask that question. 

“You could say that.”  There’s no compliance to his words, no decorum to his polished smile now.  “Remember Nile Dawk, the one I told you about who graduated from the same squad as Zoë and Mike and I?”

“Yeah,” Levi gave no indication he’s understood the signal flare of Erwin's hand squeezing at his shoulder, and it was too late to stop him once he went on to say, “how could I forget the sorry sod who wanted to change the upper-crust and the way the Inner Wall districts were run so bad, he became the MP’s official lapdog?”

Nile goes rod-stiff.

Erwin, with a familiar throbbing to his temples, wonders if perhaps he should have taken another bottle back with him.

And Levi, wild-eyed and a vicious little curl to the full seam of his Vine-stained lips that has Erwin knowing that _I am not nearly drunk enough for this_ , simply holds out the proverbial bait for Nile to take.

“That’s pretty ironic,” Erwin knows something is about to happen, knows that implacable look he’s seen countless times facing Nile on the other side of the courthouse, “coming from the Legion Commander’s beloved little bitch.”

Though he knew them both all too well, knew this was as raw as any of Levi’s unplanned and unsolicited challenges often could get, Erwin never anticipated—

“Coming from the MP’s personal lapdog,” Levi seethes, “that’s a bold accusation.”

“A man of the law,” returns Nile, “speaks only the truth.”

“And nothing but the truth?” Levi sneers.  “I think we both know that’s a pasture-load of shit, Dawk.”

“Is that what you plan on telling the Judge,” Nile breathes hard through his nose, and Erwin thinks, rendered speechless by their absolute obstinacy, he should probably step in right about now, “when I have you arrested for defamation and provocation of a Military Police officer?”

Correction: he’ll step in now.

Otherwise, Erwin knows, both he and Levi might find themselves thrown into a jail cell tonight.

“Levi.”  Despite the upheaval of his thoughts, Erwin will pride himself on his momentary lucidity, enough to close his fist around the sleeve of Levi’s dress shirt and pull him past the door.  “I believe our coach is already waiting for us, so we should hurry to meet them.”

“And prove this egotistic mule right?”  Levi doesn’t even bother lowering his voice as he shirks out of Erwin’s grip, sending a circumspect glance in a glaring Nile’s direction.  “Not a chance.”

“Levi.” 

“I’m not going, so shove off and lemme at this prick—”

“Absolutely not.”  The instant Levi moves to walk over to Nile again, Erwin takes hold of his arm, firmer this time.  “Excuse us and sorry for the trouble, Chief.  We’ll be leaving.” 

“Erwin—”

“That’s an order, Levi.” 

“Should’ve said that from the start, Smith.”  It’s as though they’ve been transported back in time again, to when they were trainee boys squaring off in the mess hall and getting ready to exchange verbal and physical blows before their drill sergeant caught on.  “But you really ought to keep your little pet on a tighter leash.  He’ll make a mockery of you and your Legion with an attitude like that.”

Erwin’s in mid-whirl, incensed more by how Nile _just couldn’t let it go, even though I was willing to drop the issue of our opposing viewpoints entirely, and to drag Levi back into the dirt while you’re at it—_

Until Levi speaks for him.

“At least I don’t speak with a forked tongue,” Levi spits, wanting the last word, “or look like a sodden heap of a cactus some cat shat out.”

“…Pfft.”

Two pairs of eyes turn to the source of the spluttering choked noise more snort than snuffle.

“What—?”

“Was that—?”

“Definitely not me.”

“Then—” 

“Smith,” Nile quails, slow to respond, “what the flying fuck was that?”

“I’m,” Erwin wheezes, sure his face must be ruddy at the effort it takes not to start howling, “so, so sorry, Nile…b-but that…extended analogy was j-just—”

“Okay.”  Levi sounds exasperated, though he hasn’t the composure to look to see while he’s covering his face and _cackling_ , helping Erwin to stand as he drags him in a combined shuffle-walk to the door.  “It’s official.  You’re so smashed it’s not even funny, so I’m calling for a coach instead.”  Then, addressing Nile, “Hopefully I won’t be seeing your ugly mug any time soon, but it was nice ‘talking’ with you, Dawk.”

“Nice talking with you, too,” deadpans Nile, almost too quick for either of the Legion officers to hear it, “Commander’s Little Bitch.”

When Levi whirls around, so fast that Erwin’s sure he’ll get vertigo, Erwin’s greatest fear is that they’ll never be finished.

“That’s Captain Bitch to you,” proclaims Levi, so resolute that Erwin can hear the smugness in his cadence, “Chief Cactus-Face.”


	31. tonight, i feel close to you

Erwin can’t recall when he blacks out, if he blacks out at all.

But the next place he finds himself is somewhere between the fifth and fourth floor of their hotel, staircase imposing as it ascends to the nebulous veneer over his eyelids.

“Oh,” his voice rasps, dragging legs and feet nowhere near the encumbrance of his too-heavy head.  “We’re not in prison.”

“Of course not,” Levi snips from below his shoulder.  “I made sure we hauled out of the place as fast as I could carrying your big-ass drunken self out to the castle gates.”

Then…Levi carried him all the way from the party? 

No, that couldn’t be right.  The coach had probably taken them back.

Except, murky as his recollection is, Erwin starts to remember. 

The sight of carriage after carriage pulling up to the curb, none of them with their coach atop his perch.

The flakes and flecks of snow floating from the overcast sky, carols clamored in honor of their etherealness.

How he babbled on and on about how they shouldn’t forgo yet another night without hitting up the local Capital taverns, not when there was _so much of the night, so much of the **world** , yet to be experienced_—

He thinks he may have blacked out again, trying to remember.

And then, he’s back.

Back to the hotel foyer, in front of their luxury suite.

“When was the last time,” grouses Levi as he blinks away semi-consciousness, “you weighed yourself?”

Excellent question.

“I believe—”  Erwin struggling, grapples for the railing.  He nearly tips over it, too, but Levi caught him by the wrist to pull him back to the wall.  “I believe.  It was a Saturday.  Some unearthly hour, long before sunrise when the day’s training began.  Pre-graduation assessment physical check.  Seven…teen?  Eight.  No, scratch that, it was probably…ten years ago…?”

“Never mind.”  Levi rolls his eyes (which Erwin thinks is awfully rude, because at least he tried to answer the question asked of him).  “You’re getting fat.  I’ve decided.  We’re putting you on a diet when we get back home.”

Home.

Home, Erwin thinks, rather liking the sound of it as he echoes the word again and again.

Home, Erwin thinks, nuzzling against something warm and steady and soft-smelling, like salt mixed with shampoo and sweat.

Home, Erwin thinks, the reverberation a wonderful sound, so wonderful, better than wonderful, and he imagines this has to be the best and warmest and nicest and smoothest something-or-another on which to rest his weary head.

(He thinks he may have blacked out again, after that, at the blunt impact of something much harder than the soft something his face found so nice.

But he’s not entirely sure about that.

Actually, he’s not really too sure about anything after that point, under the influence or intoxicated or otherwise.)

 

* * *

 

Other than the waning tones of Levi’s smooth susurrations slithering over him, placing the covers around him, tucking him safe and sound back into bed, of Levi, stubborn and strong and steadfast and sweet, sweet, sweet _Levi_ , it’s not until Erwin lets the damp moon threads and halo bright cloaks and swaying apparitions of silver-black-red weld together in dream sequences that he knows, understands, what his reliance on Levi meant all along.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he opens his eyes, Erwin first thought is that his head doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the last time he drank himself into a stupor.

Memory, however, does not return to him as easily as it does in times before.  As it never does.  To drink was to forget, after all, each time waking to the realization and the tribulation which inevitably follows.

Refocusing, he’s reminded that he isn’t in his own quarters nor is he in his own bed.  Perhaps the Vine here in the Capital is more potent than the kind he drinks back home, but he’s taken aback by the change in surroundings all the same.

 _Except there are some things,_ he muses at the turn of his cheek and smiles in spite of the twinge that ensues, _you can always count on._

Tonight, it seemed, was one of Levi’s Well-Rested Nights. 

Surrounded by a good three-quarters of the blanket, only his face and toes visible under the pre-dawn’s hazy light, the younger man might as well have bundled himself to be shipped back to the Legion. 

With his chocolates, even, should the Mail Carrier find themselves willing to mix one parcel type with another.  

But he was asleep. 

Fast asleep, if his position and current swaddled state were any indication.

Asleep, dark hair sticking out, the long fringe just falling past his relaxed brow line and he’s at ease, he’s relaxed here, Erwin realizes, another accompanying revelation resurfacing at he watches the other occupant in his bed shift and sidle out slowly from his cocoon (still asleep, stillness never to last on any night, away or back home, with a sleeper as fitful and prone to movement as Levi), because there’s something about the inadvertent patch of muscled skin revealed at his somnial movements, something he can’t bear to be away from, let alone bear to tiptoe toward the bathroom to ‘relieve’ himself like usual.

Erwin realizes then, seized by something he couldn’t blame on the alcohol stewing in his system, that what he wants, what he’s wanted since the night he gave into the urge to reach out for Levi, was never too far out of reach.

Erwin realizes then, no matter how fearless he could be as a Commander in the face of deputies and dead-laden disaster zones and the desolate stares of Titans looming overhead, he was frightened, _terrified_ , by the most primitive of human vulnerabilities.

Erwin realizes then.

He can’t wait.

He can’t wait any longer.

He won’t wait any longer.

Their position of power were under constant scrutiny, their lives ruled over by the constant threat of mortality, and what _if_ , Erwin realizes all at once, he were to die on the battlefield on their next expedition having never told Levi—

“Finally awake, I see.” 

Unraveling, Levi looks reluctant as he removes himself from the blanket. 

But it’s not his disentanglement that makes Erwin start and almost fall off the bed outright.

It’s the fact that – without prompting, without any unspoken acceptance of body comfort on nights when they needed something, someone, to hold onto – Levi takes to the crook of his open arm and huddles into his chest.

“I’m,” Erwin swallows thickly, one hand taking up residence flat at the base of Levi’s spine, “awake, yes.”  Then, once Levi draws closer and lets him run his other hand through the younger one’s messy hair, “I apologize you had to see me like that, but thank you for seeing me through all…that.”

“You mean that crap with Dawk?” Levi yawns, lifting his head with an expression drowsy enough to rouse his sympathy.  “M’already over that.  Shitface like him…s’not worth my time.”

“We used to be close,” Erwin tells him, a hollow reminder of how much has changed since the time he was an ordinary soldier, how much had yet to change about one of his many regrets.  “Though I imagine you’d find that hard to believe, given what transpired earlier.” 

“Not really.”  Levi is noncommittal, no more awake than when he first crawled from of his comforter cove, but the honesty in his gaze is something admirable, something poignant.  “I believe you.”

Erwin, while not one for Religion, can only pray Levi means what he says.

“Would you believe me,” the hand Erwin finds beneath the coverlet, a cursory search, doesn’t hesitate to hold his back when he twines their fingers tight, “if I told you I’d take any selfish request you asked of me, tomorrow, since it’ll be our only day in the Capital without a function to attend?”

There’s a strange, unsettling silence at his admission. 

Levi doesn’t look at him, either. 

Erwin fears, as the seconds slip by, his suspicions confirmed.

“Why wait?”  A question for a question.  Though it’s not the first (nor the last, he supposes) time that Levi takes him by surprise, he never anticipated that response.  “It’s already tomorrow, technically, so I’ll take my one selfish request now.”

“And what,” he feels his pulse skip, an involuntary reaction, and can only hope that Levi’s too tired to not take notice of it in spite of their forms pressed close, “might that selfish request be?”

When Levi finally looks at him, it’s to the sudden cognizance that their sleep-temperate bodies, slow but sure, have leaned into one another unconsciously.

 

* * *

 

Just when he thinks they can’t get any closer, that they can’t be any closer than they are, he’s proven wrong.

Levi has a way of doing that, he thinks, and their mouths move, opposite magnets to the same threadbare tension about to snap, closer in turn. 

Their collective inhale, their punctuated exhale, feels a lifetime away from where they started, strangers standing in a grimy Lower Sina alleyway, and the time before Levi’s wild eyes had yet to be tamed feels a distant memory now.

Except they’re not, not distanced in the least.

Except it’s not quite yet the time, not yet the moment he’s waited for.

Except it is and it isn’t, all at once, but it’s almost, _almost_ —

“Erwin.”  The way Levi says his name alone makes his hands leave their place, to graze knuckles over the high crest of cheekbones, to brush aside the stray tresses scattering the argent hue of his eyes that have yet to retract, staring right and center at him, and to trace with his thumb the parted swell of lips stretched into what looks like, _no, it **is** ,_ a smile.  “Just kiss me already, you bastard.”

(And so, without further ado, he does.)


	32. i could make a mark (if you would let me start)

Erwin has no excuses for why it took him so long to notice.

While he was unconscious, earlier?  While semiconscious, in spurts, while fever dreams swept by and slipped out of reach once his eyes opened? 

Sometime between there and back, he thinks, must have been when Levi helped him change into his sleepwear.

At the time, it was probably out of concern for his alcohol-ridden uniform.

At this point, Levi pushing him onto his back while he clambers over him, Erwin decides it was a wise choice, indeed.

Comfortable as the usual garments worn to bed are, nothing about them fits loose around him now.    

His mouth goes slack against the warm slide of Levi’s tongue when the smaller one straddles the start of his stomach, the smooth downward motion broken when Erwin’s hips surge forward to meet his – brief friction, meager relief to mounting pressure as it is.

Among other things.

“Something tells me,” Erwin pulls away to speak at the other’s grudging retreat, gauging the silence underfoot and the intense stare appraising him, “I’m about to ask something unwanted, but are you—?”

“Yes,” Levi encourages him, eyes falling shut when his slight form realigns, to lean down for another kiss.  “Why would you even…ask…at a time like this—?”

“I just,” he manages, somehow, to not let his voice shake or loosen both hands’ grip on Levi’s waist, “had to be sure.”

Nothing about the way Levi kisses is gentle.

He’s never been kissed so decisively or so thoroughly, in fact, not once in the twelve times Erwin’s been kissed before tonight. 

As a child, there were the innocent pecks: five times at his cousin’s fifteenth birthday party by a family associate’s precocious little girl and thrice on the afternoon of the same week at the prospect of a dare by the local physicist’s twin boys.

As a teenager, twice.

His first: Cera. 

He certainly couldn’t forget their kiss, brief as it was, no sooner than he could the ethereal caress to the side of his face as starbursts of spreading color blooms across the nighttime festival sky.

His second: Nile. 

Zoë put them up to it as a joke after they stole one too many bottles of Vine from the Head Instructor’s office cabinet, Mike not bothering to offer any opposition other than _it’s no different than the two of you butting heads on a regular basis._   Erwin recalls the clear shock written across Nile’s face, the dust around the barracks agitated when he hits the floor, and how strangely bitter the alcohol tasted for the rest of the evening.

As an adult, he deigns the other ten moments of weakness. 

They have names, numbers, unreturned possibilities. 

If he recalls any of their faces, he chooses not to recall what led up to them meeting. 

And parting.

“Are you sure,” Levi ruts against him, willing his refocused attention to playful nips at his collarbone and a hard bite to his neckline, “ _you_ don’t need time to think about it?”

Calling it a ‘switch’ feels unfair, a disservice.

But that’s precisely what it becomes.

When Erwin grabs the smaller man sitting on top of him, he expects a struggle only to receive no such thing.

When Erwin swings a leg around the younger man to pin him down, back to the pillows, he expects some protest over the new uncomfortable position.

What Erwin hears, instead, is a soft keening sound not at all like his imagination supplied in all the months he wanted this, all the years he’s wanted Levi like this.

(The only thing he ever wants, these days, is time.)

He swallows the noise, stifles it with Levi’s pliant lips as strong legs urge him closer, the tinge of toothpaste beckoning him closer and pressing with his tongue in labored measures, timing it with the slow grind of their hips, too keyed up to be patient but they should take off their clothes soon, very soon, he thinks above the clamor of these escalating thoughts, almost suggests as much to the drag of their bodies together until—

“Yes,” Erwin’s winded laugh, a heated assent, descends down the nape of his neck as Levi trembles beneath him and those eyes, those _eyes_ , are all the approval he needs, “very sure.”

 

* * *

 

The best kind of learning, Erwin finds as the night goes on, comes from practical knowledge.

For all his embarrassingly limited experience in the past, for all his brushes with body comfort for corporeal purposes, Erwin struggles. 

He fumbles through the process, self-taught in an untaught field of influence.

He stumbles over the intangibilities, over the idea of a novelty like desire taking flight to feelings far more unfathomable. 

He forces down his inconsistencies and – much as he tends to rely on it – his intuition that refuses to quell the sinking suspicion he’s forgotten something.

Something important.

As it stands, he’s never laid with another man, let alone anyone like Levi.

Levi is. 

Well.

Young. 

When he asked in passing earlier if Levi had any prior experience in this, the most he gets out of Levi is a grunt of _hasn’t every guy in the army jerked each other off at least once_ and drops the subject at Erwin’s obliging echo of _at least_ with wary piqued interest. 

He senses no deception, though.

Levi doesn’t turn away when he says it, either. 

So he concludes, at length, mutual masturbation might indeed be the extent of his sexual experience.

Except there’s a certain flush that reaches to the tips of his ears when Erwin asks— _are you implying this is different than ‘stress relief’ between soldiers, then?_

Except there’s a distinct lack of clarity to his eyes when he wraps his arms around Erwin’s neck, tugging him down for a kiss that’s both lewd (more tongue than teeth, more tactility than tact, hips canting back and forth while Erwin struggles, struggles for air and for a better hold than the way he arches up in a frantic attempt to keep up with the younger one’s renewed virility, and, it’s clear who would win out between them in a competition of self-control, no contest or bets involved) and all too arousing when Levi restrains his wrists, shifts away abruptly so the only thing Erwin can rub his crotch against is the flat of his knee and _for the love of—_ he doesn’t beg, not quite, but the languished attempt at friction leaves him wanting, though, at the rate this whole affair was taking, he just might be willing to give Levi that satisfaction.

“Definitely,” Levi lilts as he steps aside to undress, smug, a lesson that no amount of teaching will ever make Erwin forget, “since I’d never let any dirty-ass soldier get me off with their mouth.”

 

* * *

 

Sharp jutting angles, prominent gear-track lines, Levi is still every bit a sight to behold.

Their builds are vastly different; there was no use in denying it or pretending not to take notice. 

It would be foolish not to acknowledge it, not while they were here like this. 

But there’s something rather appealing about the stark contrast between them, to how much smaller Levi is and how much strength emanates from him.

There’s something rather appealing, too, to how he had taken the liberty to undress himself completely in while Erwin struggles just to unbutton his own shirt.

There’s something appealing, pleasantly noted, about how Levi lounges while the taller man removes his pants, legs parted and resting on the stretched fabric of the hotel sheets spread wide open.

For him.

“If you have any special requests,” Erwin muses aloud with a smile when Levi immediately sits upright, open palms massaging from ankles to knees to thighs to – fingers light, lingering, lavishing extra attention – to the slight recoiling dip of his hipbones, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“You’d take orders,” quips Levi, even tone belied by the telltale twitch of his fingers threading through Erwin’s hair at the breaths ghosting over the slope of his inner thigh, “from your direct subordinate?”

“Rank has no place here,” rejoins Erwin, rising up on his haunches briefly to kiss the crooked curl away from his lips, “in the bedroom, my dear Captain.”

“You’re right,” Levi concedes, mock-exasperated.

A hand musses his already unkempt hair, borderline tender.

But there’s no time to reflect on the fondness of it, because Erwin soon finds his head shoved right between the younger man’s legs.

“Better get back to work, then,” and, Good Sina, what a sinful little smile he spies on his Captain’s visage, just seconds before a rough tug at his hair pushes him down again, “my dear Commander.”

Had his mouth not swiftly found itself preoccupied, Erwin would have made certain – at least in the bedroom – any and all orders presented to him by Levi deserved nothing less than a resounding _yes, sir._

 

* * *

 

Levi is quiet.

Fortunate for any others on this floor – and for their reputations, he supposes, though that was far from his first priority right now – there’s no plaintive pleading or simulated screaming to be heard.  

No overt or incidental shouts to alert the entirety of Sina as to what the Legion’s Commander did with his direct subordinate. 

No such thing could Erwin recall from start to the afterglow period.

Levi is still far from a passive party.

Over the mattress coils creaking ever so often beneath the bedframe, over the sounds of audible suction and slippery skin, Erwin hears him. 

At first, he thinks he doesn’t. 

Then, he thinks, the lack of focus for anything else but the firm flesh along the flat of his palate must mean he’s imagined the whole thing up.

It turns out, much to his abating surprise, that he isn’t.

_If I’d known that big mouth of yours could do more than just talk a good talk, I would’ve let you do this way sooner._

_Wonder if those high-society pricks would have been so quick to sponsor the Legion if they knew where that mouth of yours had been._

_Who would’ve thought the Commander would look— Shit, that’s— so **good** — on his hands and knees?_

Shameless doesn’t even begin to describe the things Levi murmurs to himself, to the overhanging curtain of stellar fragments waxing poetry past the overhead window panel, and Erwin almost pulls off when Levi shudders, once, and stills just as soon.

Shameless doesn’t even begin to describe the way Erwin guides him forward and push him farther in, deeper, slipping away brief only to pull him back down into his throat until his nose nearly meets the sturdy expanse of his stomach and he’s not sure whether the ragged draw of someone breathing, haggard and helpless, is from Levi or from him.

Shameless as the pleased little hum he lets out that vibrates through them both, it’s not the taste that catches on his tongue that makes Erwin look up.

“Don’t,” Levi implores, hoarse, as if the tremors spreading from his legs hooked over Erwin’s shoulders to his hands reaching for pillows he’d knocked over himself with all his thrashing.  “Don’t do that and just stop—”

Oh, but he did. 

And he certainly could continue to do so, holding Levi taut so that he can’t move as he wants to, as he’d no doubt like to, despite Levi’s quavering grip enough to leave nail imprints raised on his forearm.

In a game of counterbalancing power with control, Erwin had no misgivings about who would win.

“Y-You can’t just—”

Though he was by no means as ruthless as the rumors spoke of him, Erwin did think about…teasing him a bit longer. 

It would delay the inevitable, explore one of many ways to derive pleasure out of this base act. 

Test a theory or two, even.

“S-Shit, don’t just stare at me and wipe that stupid grin off your face, you stupid big-ass fucker, and suck me off like you mean it, you— _fuck_ —!”

He’s no less emphatic, of course, once the older man indulges his demands, so Erwin doesn’t bother trying to shush him once the broken vocalizations give way to choked exaltations.

(It’s not the sounds themselves.)

He’s no more reserved, no less clutching for something, anything, to wrench into a desperate hold, while Erwin’s hand searches and finds his, Levi wringing the circulation from it entirely, urgently.

(It’s not the look on his face alone.)

He’s no less worthy of admiration here, not subordinate nor charge nor high-ranking soldier but a man – nineteen-going-on-twenty, dauntless, relentless Levi, his as much as his own – who deserved better than some idealized form of adoration and affection Erwin struggles to understand and commit himself, better than this, deserved better than him.

It’s the soft sheen of sweat sliding past the messy part of disheveled dark hair.

It’s the soft glow over his usual pallor and the dark hue of bruises scattered across his bare body.

It’s the soft gleam of sultry silver when he looks at him, looks at **him** , and the even softer, almost inaudible whine from Levi’s lips is a warning, _Erwin_ , and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come himself right there from hearing his own name like that or at least from the look on Levi’s face alone—

(As it turns out, it was none of these things but the way Levi’s breath hitches as he tells him how he _waited three years for you_ as he comes that makes Erwin finally let go.)

 

* * *

 

“Ugh.”

As soon as Levi stumbles out from the bathroom, Erwin shifts on the blanket laid over the mattress in the wake of what transpired earlier. 

“There wasn’t any hot water left?”

“No, there was.”  Levi, against all his predictions, crawls right into his arms.  “I wouldn’t be back in bed if it wasn’t.”

“You wouldn’t let me join you in the shower,” it’s a bleary protest, considering they were both clean now and (Mike, he imagines, would no doubt find his reaction amusing) Erwin takes in the scent of soap on Levi’s shoulder and pulls him closer.  “Well.  More importantly.  Why that reaction to coming back to bed?”

“It’s not you,” Levi says, immediately, and Erwin lifts his head from the pillow space they’re sharing.  “—This sucks.”

“I’m not sensing a double-entendre there,” he remarks, flinching when Levi elbows him with a roll of his eyes, “so I’m assuming you’re talking about something else?”

Levi tucks into the open space of his arms and doesn’t answer.  Not at first, anyway.

“We seriously,” a muffled reverberation against his chest, “have to leave tomorrow?”

If only they didn’t.

“Technically speaking,” Erwin points out, not quite reassurance in the gentle pat to the smaller man’s head as he peers at the first peals of morning’s light appearing on the horizon, “we’re heading back to the base today.”

“That’s even worse,” groans Levi, more exasperated than cross as he slumps farther into Erwin’s arms.  “—I don’t wanna go.”

Though bewildered, Erwin keeps running a hand through Levi’s hair.  “I…don’t suppose you want to be left here, though, in the Capital.”

“Obviously not,” Levi all but huffs, now visibly frustrated.  “But, seriously, you don’t get it—?”

“We’ve done our part at gaining more sponsors, Levi,” Erwin sighs, not wanting Levi to raise his voice any more than he’s begun to already.  “What other reason would there be to stay here in Upper Sina?”  And, before the intake of breath under his chin escalates, he adds, “We’ll buy one more parcel of chocolate to take with us, but only a small one.”

“That’s fine,” Levi brushes him off, almost flippant, which only piques Erwin’s curiosity more.  “It’s just— I wanted to stay here.” 

Much of a habit as it was becoming, Erwin does little more than lean back and let Levi kiss him, an added bite and fervency to this one in particular.

It isn’t until Levi reaches past the waistband of his sleeping trousers that he realizes, _ah_ , that’s why—

“Here,” Levi says as he sidles up against him, rubbing flush to his thigh and already getting right to work, cool hands over his heated skin not yet enough to make him shiver even if the wicked little lilt of his smile does, “with you.” 

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, they don’t depart until the sun rises high in the sky.

But from the time they drift off to sleep away the rest of the morning, sated and side-by-side, to the moment they leave their lodgings for the carriage awaiting them on the cold Capital curbside, the two of them remain quite warm for the rest of their trip.

Inside and out.

 


	33. you've already won me over, in spite of me.

Once the sleet and uneven snow piles start to subside, the Legion resumes its usual schedule of excursions.

Likewise, Erwin’s usual schedule resumes. 

Back to business, back to his office – Erwin goes. 

From the mahogany desk to the brushwood forest’s edge to the fields leading back to the training grounds for check-ins, his mind fills and refills itself with the indistinct blueprints for far-reaching Titan territory. 

The elliptical patterns persist, carry him through sketched outlines, new formations, and packet after packet of new budgeting proposals – Erwin goes. 

Goes, only to wear thin the emerald cape worn about his shoulders like a king would his crown.

Goes, only to return and revisit what he began with from the outset.

Goes, only to find that familiarity extends to a certain rearrangement of his life as well.

Levi. 

His Captain, his right-hand man, and his— lover. 

How strange it is, Erwin thinks, to call him as such.

It’s only when they’re allowed the rare luxury of time, however, and the privacy of their late-night rendezvous sessions that Erwin allows himself to question it. 

Their relationship. 

Erwin considers, while their two shadows merge into one, what it all means.  What it should mean. 

If the loaded term is appropriate, even, to use at his own discretion when – since their first night together in that Upper Sina hotel suite – he doesn’t get to see Levi for more than a day at a time throughout the winter season.

Erwin considers, while their farewells echo from the confines of his bedroom and (more) often (than not) delayed by their own lingering longing to keep the other _just a few minutes more_ , how much farther they can go.

The spark between them, certainly, hasn’t faded. 

Not in the least. 

They’ve been much more adventurous, though, these days. 

Though the younger man’s never been anything less than innovative, Erwin never knew one person could conjure up such…creative methods to make use of location and time. 

He attributes most of their wilder romps to Levi’s empirical tendencies (like the time behind the barracks, on his bimonthly visit to the base, where they were extremely fortunate that Logan Golda was a scout who could be sworn to secrecy) but he won’t deny the more rushed affairs right in his office were a touch premature.

Well. 

Several touches premature, if one were to gauge their ‘sessions’ in literal terms.   

The trouble in discoveries, Erwin finds, is how the involved parties turn out to be the most surprised of all.

Like the discovery that Zoë’s reaction – a significant lack of verbal outpourings, effusive hand gestures, and tossed objects – was little more than an astonished _wait, you mean it took you that long to finally figure it out, Erwin?_

Like the discovery that Mike’s perfect sense of smell – more a curse than a blessing, given how his longtime friend had a propensity for staring and trailing after him whenever he noticed – extended to detecting when _you smell like Levi all over, Erwin, though I’m way more concerned about how fresh that bite mark on your hand looks._

Like the discovery that Nanaba – bless their heart and their practiced pouts, because Erwin would have declined the ‘gift’ immediately had it been anyone else – took it upon themselves to personally deliver the Commander a curious little relic with _lots of new ideas for all sorts of crazy positions you and Little Levi can try out when you’re in the mood for something different!_

And, as the season reaches its height, the discovery that Levi as a lover is much like Levi on the battlefield.

With a purpose in mind and a blade-sharp wit to wield about, Levi doesn’t focus on details.  Doesn’t focus on anything other than the task laid out in front of him and the end goal in mind. 

The means are irrelevant sans for morality purposes.

Even if, according to Levi, _we’re not exactly fighting a war against moral beings here,_ Erwin understands.

Erwin understands – just as he understood and never questioned the way Levi’s hands shook when he took the reins of his horse after his first solo kill.

Erwin understands – just as he understood and never questioned the impossibly bright glow of absolute pride in Levi’s eyes the first expedition out with his squad when he rejoined the Commander’s fleet.

Erwin understands – just as he understood and never questioned the level of trust Levi has in him is a privilege and not a requirement.

And that understanding is, perhaps, the most frightening thing of all.

 

* * *

 

Once they finally recall how to recompose themselves, how the concept of personal space involves retracting all hands and mouths from one another, they talk. 

Late into the evening or early into the cusp of morning, they talk.

Any number of topics, there’s always at least one light and brisk conversation to be had. 

No matter how tired their minds and bodies may be after their various exploratory ventures, carrying them into the realm of provisional sleep, Erwin prefers that alternative to the flashbulb memories that foil restful dreams.

Those pre-slumber talks, Erwin finds, may very well be his saving grace.

“You’re doing it again,” Levi tells him, one night as winter’s end approaches.  “It’s creepy as hell.  Stop staring at me when I’m trying to sleep, you big oaf.”

“I’m not staring.”  Winded as this particular night’s activities have left him (paired with an expedition as wearisome as today’s), Erwin rolls onto his stomach until their elbows bump as he amends, “Staring for the sake of staring and staring because I find you stunning are two different things, after all.”

The pillow hits his face with no real force behind it, but it’s the mumble of, “shut _up_ ” that elicits a wheezing laugh from the Commander that’s lighter, sincerer, than he’s felt throughout the latest slew of multi-day Consulate meetings over the last week.

“Hey.  Erwin.  You’re doing it again.”  He knows, just from Levi’s tone of voice, that it’s not his barefaced admiration about to be discussed.  “If you’ve got work on the brain, take it outside—”

“—‘and abstain.’”  Erwin finishes with a sigh, more put out at having been caught contemplative.  “I know, Levi.  I’m well aware of what we agreed to when this whole arrangement of ours began.”

Despite how long they’ve known one another – because of it – Erwin knows the faraway look in Levi’s eyes just as well.

“Hey,” Levi mumbles, nestling into a temporary abode from the nest of his arms, “if you’re tired, don’t leave me hanging.  Just be honest.” 

He stops fidgeting, then, statue-still for a few seconds before burrowing under the covers. 

“—You know what.  Never mind.  Forget it.”

“Never mind?”  It’s Erwin’s turn to stare for the sake of staring.  “That hardly sounded like something I shouldn’t mind—”

“Nope.”  He forgets, sometimes, that Levi is no less immune to these bouts of rebelliousness, no matter his outward conformity around the other soldiers.  “That’s exactly what you should do.”

“Levi.” 

“I’m dropping it.  Subject dropped.  We’re not talking about this anymore, not while I'm tired as—”

He’s not sure what possesses him, then, if not for some strange and age-inappropriate impulse.

He’s not sure if it’s the dismissive words themselves or how they trigger him just so.

But he gives into the sudden urge that strikes him, reaches out to pull Levi by the scruff of his neck, pulls him forward until Levi’s out from under the blanket and his incensed exhale washes centimeters from his own open mouth and, suddenly, Erwin wants very much to pin Levi down all over again, wants to leave new marks and temper old ones mapped across his skin, to unravel this insatiable want in the form of physical intimacy.

Except that isn’t all he wants.

“Levi,” Erwin starts, as the revelation strikes him far more potent than any pillow to the face or any gradual epiphany felt ever before, “are you afraid that I’ll tire of _you_?”

It takes Levi looking down, looking to duck back under the covers, and looking for any method to hide the slight pinkening of his ears for Erwin to feel strange.

Strangely relieved.

“Levi.”  Erwin speaks his name before leaning in, a hand still steadying his nape (it’s familiar and yet not, this scenario, this tension-charged air, and he’ll savor this – he should savor this, in case he should ever need something grounding to hold onto) as he kisses his way down from forehead to the tip of his nose to the swell of his quirking lips.  “I remember very clearly what you told me the first winter after we met.  Do you recall what you told me, when I first asked you if you would join the Scouting Legion?”

His brow furrows, but the brief scowl doesn’t last long.  “You mean about not living for anybody else but me?”

Erwin nods, not daring to speak while the flicker of uncertainty resurfaces in Levi’s gaze.

“I’m not asking you to live for my sake.”  If anything, Erwin hopes it’s enough.  “The exact opposite.”

Perplexity takes the place of Levi’s suspicion. 

“So what you’re saying…is I should ‘live for myself’ and whatever garbage I’d gone off about when I thought I was hot shit, basically?”

“That determination,” Erwin murmurs along the cleft of Levi’s ear, “is what makes you exceptional, Levi.”

“Exceptional,” Levi scoffs.  As if he can’t believe a single thing Erwin says.  As if Erwin could explain what drove him to lying beside and wanting to stand beside this free-spirited and forthright man in the manifestation of a boy.  “You’re always spouting romantic shit like you mean it, but do you really expect me to take everything you say as gospel?”

“No,” Erwin says, so sure that Levi’s stare on him looks outright alarmed.  “Just as I hope you know I say these things because I mean them, I’ve no doubt you have hopes of your own.  And that sense of individuality and independence is no small part of what’s kept you standing even now.”

Hope, Erwin thinks, he imagines they both feel in equal amounts.

Hope that shines through in those fire-bright eyes looking straight ahead, straight at him, in the resilient glow that refused to fade.

Hope that sparks at every instant, every subtle change in expression, that flickers over Levi’s visage – just as when he first held his hand outstretched –

Not when he could recall when he knew, with absolute certainty, why he let the choice be Levi’s alone.

“But the same applies to me,” Erwin says, laughs, sheepish – because he knew Levi would understand.  “I have far more hopes than I know what to do with these days…you, as my greatest hope of all, in particular.”

 

* * *

 

(He almost never sees anything akin to hope here in the Legion, but he’s never seen a smile on Levi’s face quite like that, either, nothing so raw and unrestrained as what he feels in the near-affectionate mumble of _then shut up and show me how much ‘hope’ you have for me, asshole,_ before the appreciative kiss he earns in return and the even more appreciative touching under the covers that ensues steals the rest of his breath away.)

 

 


	34. we're close to it (so very close to it)

Springtime strides in to sweep aside the season previous.

After the winter weather, too, sweeps in the new batch of potential recruits arrive in the form of the 104th Trainee Squad.

“You should come with me,” Zoë enthuses, tugging Erwin out from behind his desk with obvious skepticism.  “We can sit in on their afternoon drills!  Shadis won’t mind as long as we stay above the training grounds and don’t distract them while we’re watching them.”

“By ‘watching,’” Erwin digs his heels and sits back down, sifts through papers he’s been putting off for weeks, though a surprising lack of requests from the Consulate this week means he could spend today catching up on their usual unbearable workload, “I assume you mean observing them over the next few months to predict who will make it all the way to the top ten of their graduating class?”

If there’s one thing Erwin knows about Zoë, it’s that her curiosity knows no bounds.

“Was it,” Zoë’s thirst for knowledge is infectious, but her smile is as well – so much that Erwin’s own fatigued gaze lightens at the sight, “that obvious?”

“Far from it, dear Zoë,” Erwin quips, giving into Zoë’s dogged arm-pulling with a theatrical bow as he stands.  “I just happen to be fortunate enough to know what sort of sparkle in your eye starts up whenever you have some great scheme for the sake of science in mind.”

“Oh, _Erwin_ ,” the scientist-at-heart’s false coquettishness elicits smiles from the Commander and the Squad Leader, “you flatter me so.  How can I possibly repay you for your constant generosity?”

He outright laughs then, more at the irony of such mock praise than anything else.

“All I would ever ask for in return from you,” Erwin tells her, a gentle clap to her shoulders and a familiarity to how Zoë immediately nudges closer in response, elbows crashing and linking together in brief camaraderie before they leave his office, “is your company.”

Erwin knows he’s far from honest, at the heart of the matter.

Around some, he is a stern and serious superior officer, used to sobriety in the face of scapegoating after years of enduring it in silence. 

All scorning, all scruples ignored, as he needn’t reminders of his own well-known vices.

Around others, he is an accomplished orator, speaking in vast amounts when he must and cutting down quarrels down to size when asked.

All intensive purposes forestalled, all that he does is speak what most are afraid to hear.

Around his subordinates, Erwin is forever formal, framed as father-like by the scouts who favor him to their authoritarian Captain, and reverently respected. 

All flattery, all praise he takes with a grain of salt, having heard the opposite many a time previous.

But around Zoë and her squadmates, around Mike and his squadmates – around Levi and, more recently, his squadmates growing more at ease around him – Erwin feels a different man entirely. 

A more honest man. 

A more honest person.

So when he sees young faces etched by their resolve, sees them scatter and mill about and chatter in scattered yet visible groups and pairs, Erwin suddenly finds he’s no longer tired.

No longer tired over things he cannot change.

No longer afraid of the passion that keeps him in this position, in this leadership role, that compels him to push for change.

No longer, he finds, does the sight of these child soldiers rinse his resilience with resignation but hope. 

They stand for hope.

They are, in handfuls and scattered yet visible groups and pairs of potential strong survival types, perfect candidates for Legion recruitment.

They are, indeed, the best new crop of soldiers Commander Erwin Smith has seen in years.

 

* * *

 

“Zoë,” says Erwin, on their brisk return walk back to Legion Headquarters, “the next time you plan on visiting the trainees again, tell me.  I’d like to be a part of this year’s ‘due process,’ as long as time allows.”

He’s not surprised when Zoë beams, wide enough for teeth to show through past her lips.

“So that means,” Zoë’s eyes gleam with sudden ardency, “you’ll help me convince Levi to check out our new babies, right?”

He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing before he too leaves his final remark, however.

“I imagine you’d do a much better job at that than I can,” Erwin says, flattery notwithstanding, “but I have no doubt we can.  Next time, then.”

Because – as an honest man, as a friend, as a fellow human being – how could he possibly refuse?

 

* * *

 

Eren Jaeger. 

Mikasa Ackerman. 

Armin Arlert.

According to their Instructor, the three are absolutely inseparable. 

Where one goes, the other is sure to follow after yet another trailing behind.  Most of the time, the one who trails behind is Arlert, a remarkably intelligent boy who compensates for his lack of stamina with an ever-sharp wit. 

Arlert might even become a leadership candidate, Shadis crows, once he works at improving his confidence and endurance.

Ackerman is an entirely different case.

He gets a hold of her papers, thanks to some pulled strings on Shadis’ part, and wonders for the reason why Jaeger was listed under ‘family information.’ 

Gleaning anymore on her background from the few starstruck trainees he’s asked in passing yields more questions, because he doesn’t peg her for anything less than an introvert from what he’s observed – and Zoë as well, whose judgment he would never question. 

Yet the trainees mutter about _well-kept secret_ s and _brother complex_ es and, well, Erwin supposed the latter was obvious enough. 

What he finds more cause for concern, though, is the information to be found on one Eren Jaeger.

Or, rather, the significant lack thereof.

“Shinganshina…”  Erwin’s solemn mention of the overrun southernmost district draws out an inquisitive hum from Zoë, standing with hands outstretched for the file in question.  “Here, Zoë.  You can have it back now.”

She all but runs from his desk back to the sofa, dives headfirst there and into the procured papers.

“It’s a shame,” chimes Mike from the loveseat, passing the scrutinizing Nanaba – perched on the cushioned armrest – their designated coffee mug, “we can’t choose who joins the Legion when these kids graduate.  Based on what you’re telling me, this one’s top-pickings.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”  Though not directly involved in the research aspect of Zoë’s curiosity capers, Nanaba seemed content just to be in their superior officers’ company, given that the first expedition for the summer was another three weeks away.  “I mean, I’d be willing to bet if Mister Smith pulled a few strings—”

“Nanaba,” Mike tells them, sounding wearier than his impassive face indicated, “don’t.”

“Don’t what?”  Erwin, even without lifting his head from the files on Jean Kirschstein and Sasha Braus he just opened, can tell Nanaba’s far from an innocent bystander.

“Don’t suggest anything that could make any of us in this room lose our jobs, please.  Including you.”

“Hate to break it to you, Mikey, but unlike you and Zany Zoë and Mister Smith and Little Levi, I don’t have any fancy titles,” Zoë snorts something awful, and Erwin thinks he’s just heard the chortle of _yet_ under the other Squad Leader’s breath.  “So why would **I** end up losing my job?”

“Because if I get fired,” Mike tells them, undeterred, “then you’ll lose your place in my squad.”

A pregnant pause, as if Nanaba were truly considering the scenario.

“And…then what?”

“And then I’d lose you, which is the one thing I don’t want to ever have happen.” 

Had Erwin been blessed with inhuman hearing like Mike was inhuman olfactory glands, he would have perhaps heard the skipping beats of Nanaba’s heart at the precise instant Mike’s words disperse into the summer humidity outside his office window.

“Oh.”  

Erwin places his pen aside, peering out from around the stacked files to see an uncharacteristically self-conscious Nanaba turning scarlet. 

“Oh…what?” 

“Just.  Oh.  Wow.  Mikey, w-what’s gotten into you today—?”

“Nothing’s gotten into me.”  Straight-faced and stalwart as ever, Mike pulls Nanaba into his lap and – just as Zoë lets out a shrill squawk – Levi chooses this exact moment to push open the door to his office.  “I just wanted you to know how important you are to me.”

If the elated look on an applauding Zoë made Erwin chuckle, the scandalized look on Levi’s makes Erwin _choke_.

“Holy shit.  Gag me with a spoon, why don’t you?”  Levi beelines right for Erwin’s desk.  “That’d be worlds less painful than seeing you two hang all over each other every time I come in while you’re here.”

“Are you implying,” Erwin forgoes his greeting when the Captain steps right up and adds three more piles to the growing stack, “that a happy couple would do that on purpose just to annoy you?”

“More like there isn’t a single person in this room who doesn’t annoy me.”  Erwin honestly doesn’t even see Zoë until she’s long crept away from Jaeger’s file (left on the nearby coffee table next to the cozy couple) to cradle Levi into her arms.  “Like _this_ shitty spectacled freak, for example—”

“That’s too bad.”  Zoë grins, rubbing her bare forehead on the crown of Levi’s hair.  “Because we love you.”

“Awww, are we starting a cuddling chain?”  Nanaba perks up, disentangling from Mike to slink over and join Zoë’s proclaimed Cuddling Chain motion.  “We should totally all cuddle.  Let’s cuddle.  Together.  All five of us.”

“Hear, hear.”  Mike rises from the loveseat, turning the glint in Levi’s eyes positively murderous.  “Erwin, don’t be shy.  Come join us.”

“The cuddle party wouldn’t be complete,” warbles an all-too-pleased Nanaba, “without you, Commander!”

Erwin has a thought, then.

Or, rather, several thoughts.

The first is that he’ll never ceased to be amazed by how little and how much changes about the Legion over time. 

In particular, the people he considers comrades and close confidants never have and likely never will. 

Recalling how he had once only had two friends to rely on when Erwin first came here, only thought of the army and the people in it as a means to an end, it was incredible to look back now and realize this makeshift family still stood to be called his.

The second is that faith, he knows, is a most elusive thing in difficult times.

He has unending support, however, not just with the four standing in front of him but through their connections, through their forged bonds.  He forgets, sometimes, when the only cognizance to be found is in the militaristic methods of a life both led and not yet lived to its fullest.

But when he slips free from the confines of a mask permanently affixed about his neck for whenever he needs it, Erwin is simply himself – not ”Commander,” not “The Ostracized Heir to the Smith Legacy,” not the “Legion’s Top Dog.”

Erwin is simply someone who lives by a single grounding principle: live for yourself and no one else.

The third is that the very person who taught him the meaning of such an adage – whose head peeks out from the net of uniform jacket and shirt sleeves and regards him with pointed expectancy – is the same person he would be loath to ever lose.

“You sure took your damn sweet time,” Levi sniffs with that amused crooked half-grin of his, triggering a chain reaction: Mike sneers, Zoë splutters, and Nanaba – shuffling over slightly to move closer to Mike and give Erwin room to squeeze in between them.  “Done overthinking shit and finally here to join the party, I see.”

Despite the truth of that statement, despite the light chorus of protests from his chagrined comrades, Erwin starts to laugh.

He laughs.

He laughs.

Soon enough, to his surprise, he isn’t the only one.

The muffled titters and the crowing brays, the shrieks and shorts of well-intentioned praise and the irascible banter spiral and scatter—

And then Erwin is laughing the loudest of them all, wrapping his arms around the entire bunch while they clutch and try valiantly to shove him away, chattering away, like children involved in a lighthearted game.

(That summer, as Erwin will recall it three years later, was the first and the last time he ever felt so much at home.)

 


	35. the drum beats (out of time)

Nothing brings forth nostalgia like the mention of a familiar place.

Central Sina’s busiest shopping district.

The Midway Bazaar.

Stohess’s sprawling fountain plaza. 

People places, these were unforgettable locations.

People places, he attaches them to memories as much as individuals.

People places, he thinks of them as fond as in childhood, as wistful as his last summer as a trainee spent meandering alone past near-empty patisseries, as resigned as times when relatives and lost comrades and potential business partners alike would walk alongside.      

Once, when the nights wound into early mornings with virtually no sleep to speak of, they were places of solace, retreats from the rest of the world.

Once, he would call those places “safe.”

 

* * *

 

But there are other places he would hesitate to go unaccompanied.

The lakeside, for example.

No matter how many times he walks this path, Erwin _still_ feels anxious as he walks. 

Out of habit? 

Muscle memory equating a physiological reaction? 

Well. 

In any event, it proves that he’s every bit the guileless trainee that accidentally discovered this little haven on a past-curfew stroll through the main military base years ago.

Destination nigh, Erwin takes note of the time without pausing to check his watch (farther from moonset than moonrise) and pulls his hood farther down his face.

Along the winding path past the training grounds.

Past the lining of trees parted into clearings.

Drifting around foliage and the rush of creeks leading all the way down to—

The water, as he recalled, never looked anything less than translucent.

Beneath the moonlight, the lake glistens.  

Unobstructed, one could see their own reflection from the water’s edge.

Uninterrupted, one could see the depths of the farthest inlet by taking an impromptu swim.

Uninhibited by hillsides and human constructions, one could see the stars.

 

* * *

 

“No wonder I couldn’t catch a whiff of you around HQ.”

The cape clutched reflexive in his palm went slack when Erwin hears who trailed him this far.

“That would make sense, considering I slipped out about an hour ago.”

A gruff sound from the rustling hedges and a few horse-heavy steps later, his pursuer emerges.

“That’s about how long I’ve been covering your tracks.”

“Thank you.”

Eclipsed by the Squad Leader’s shadow, Erwin realizes he isn’t the only one wearing an unmarked Legion cloak.

“Don’t mention it.”  Far from dismissive, Mike’s hulking hands clasp over his shoulders in a gentle grip, a gesture that means as much what follows:  “Just being here takes me back.  Quietest Place On The Base, huh?”

“If not,” Erwin remarks, “the quietest place within the Walls.”

“No quieter than your office first thing in the morning,” Mike’s chin nudges its way against the crook of his neck, not quite pushing his entire weight forward – though the taller man knows, from combat training and sparring sessions in the past, that Erwin’s always been the sturdier one, “when I stop by to drop off your morning coffee.”

Quiet, in sudden settling motion, is a commodity.

They can’t afford it often.  Not like when they were teenagers, when they held no rank and lesser responsibilities.  Not that they had, even when they had the time.

The present, Erwin finds at moments infrequent as these often are, deserves to be treated as such.

“The night’s a bit cold for swimming.”  They aren’t teenagers anymore, Erwin knows, but the wonders of youthful vigilance never cease.  “Just a bit.”  

“And here I was just about to ask,” Mike has the gall to look disappointed, “if you wanted to go for a dip.”

“For old time’s sake?” 

Mike’s hood drops, revealing that Erwin wasn’t the only one smiling with visible candor, as he peels off his Legion cloak.

“For old time’s sake.”

They were bold and brazen fools, when they were young. 

But a lapse in dignity, an exercise in irresponsibility, wasn’t so bad. 

In small doses, some might even call it healthy.

“For old time’s sake, then.” Shucking off his shirt and pants into the growing pile of garments in the grass, off-duty or not, Erwin leaves his title – and his tie, at length – behind.  “Three laps, two sets.  The first to climb out and tag this old pine wins.  Loser buys drinks for the winner after our next expedition.”

“Deal.”  Already undressed, Mike breaks into a running start for the water’s edge.  “For old time’s sake, let’s hope you can keep up!”

“For old time’s sake,” Erwin shouts back, already at Mike’s heels, “I should be the one saying that to you…!”

 

* * *

 

“Next time,” Zoë fusses over them both once they arrive back at Headquarters, still dripping with Erwin swathed in his and Mike’s cloaks, “you’d better believe I’m going with you.”

“Sorry,” Mike speaks for Erwin, whose teeth are too busy clacking together.

“You should be,” Zoë rarely frowns.  She must have been worried, what with her current lack of glasses and ‘casual’ lab-work attire.  That’s what Erwin thinks, at least, until she asks, “So who won?”

“It was—”

“—a tie.”  Mike sniffs.  Once, at the way Erwin says it; twice, at the base of his neck, the thick line of bristling hair nearly making him topple into Zoë.  “What?”

“Let me guess,” giggles Zoë, patting down Erwin’s matted curls and Mike’s unkempt mane.  “You smell something fishy on him, Big Mike?”

“Very fishy,” the taller man sneers, to Erwin’s visible dismay.  “Like he’s plotting to make us both owe each other drinks.”

“A warm drink,” Erwin finally says, enfolded in thick fabric and interlocked arms pressed against his back for the rest of their walk through the stonewall gates, “would be the only kind of drink I could stand for right about now.”

“I’ve got tea,” Zoë announces, grinning.  “But only if you promise to let me swim with you guys next time.”

“As long as you do us a favor,” the playful pinch to Mike and Zoë’s sides must be the response they expected, with how they both didn’t shirk away from it, “and go easy on us when you join in the race next time.”

“Oh, I’ll go easy on you.” Zoë sings, all too brightly.  “Provided it can even be called a race once I’m in it.”

 

* * *

 

(He might even call the present – the pursuit of it, the unflagging ticks and tocks that mark its passage, the slippery slope of slow-sinking sand – what keeps him alive.)

 

 


	36. i get by (with a little help from my friends)

 

“Just a minute!”

 

These were lodging quarters considerably larger than the trainee barracks, larger than the bedchambers set aside for the scouts. 

 

“Didn’t think the Captain’d be back so soon.”

 

The Special Operations Squad consists of no such ordinary soldiers.

 

“Probably not.  The horses were still snuffling at him when we left.”

 

So it was no surprise that any antagonizing forces were inevitably squelched at the first signs of remonstration.

 

“…Auruo.  It was your turn to feed them tonight, wasn’t it?”

 

So it was no surprise, Erwin thinks as he steps away from the door abruptly swinging out, that the members deemed ‘Special Ops’ are just as exemplary.

 

“What, I thought it was your turn—!”

Exemplary, in spite of – or perhaps because of – their youth.

 

“Guys?  Seriously?  Don’t leave whoever’s at the door hanging—“

 

Like the young woman who peers around the doorframe, chestnut bangs framing a startled smile, for instance. 

“Oh, Commander.”  The startled look she wears turns less affected and more genial.  “I’d say I’m surprised to see you, but I’m more concerned…did the door hit you on your way in?”

“Not at all,” Erwin reassures, stepping forward at length.  “It’s just a shame that the architects didn’t plan for doors to swing in rather than out.”

“Obviously,” Petra quips, “the contractors weren’t military personnel.”

A curious statement.  “Why do you say that?” 

“Well, if they were, they would’ve known soldiers prefer doors you can push open."

 

* * *

 

Miss Ral, seventeen going on eighteen, was an outstanding scout.

Quantitative records tell a story: fifty-eight Titan kills, forty-eight of them assisted and ten of them solo. 

Qualitative records tell a similar tale: described as _adored by her peers and considered a ‘Princess’ among males and females alike_ , Petra’s choice of division as the third-highest ranked graduate of her class surprised the trainees who did not follow after her to the Scouting Legion.

Those who did – Auruo Bossard, Gunther Schultz, and Eld Jinn – were braver than they knew.

“It’s good to see all of you up and about,” Erwin greets each of them as Petra ushers him to the dining area’s center table.  “I’m sorry to have come here so late in the evening.  Business meetings with the Consulate tend to run much later than scheduled.”

“No need for apologies, sir!”  It takes sheer willpower, Erwin finds, to not laugh at how forced Auruo’s speech sounded, a clean cup and flask placed down as soon as he takes a seat.  “We’re the ones who should be sorry, since—”

“It’s fine.”  Erwin counts the bated breaths before he goes on.  “I’d been hoping to speak with all of you in private, actually, so this works out much better.”

Uncertain as their silence is, Erwin keeps his hands folded.

Waiting.

Eld and Gunter, no less synchronized this month’s visit than the last, are the first to react, hurrying to take root on opposite sides of the table.  

Auruo, no further prompting needed, sinks into a chair beside Petra.

“If you don’t mind me being honest, Commander,” Eld chimes, once the anxious flutter of anticipation yields only a continued hush, “we had a feeling that’s what you’d say.  Gunter was pretty sure you’d be stopping by the base today, too.”

“Lev— our Captain, he’s always extra…tense on days when you’re due to stop in.”  There’s vague amusement to Gunter’s observation, a cursory glance in Eld’s direction just shy of sheepish.  “Well, technically, I wasn’t the first one who noticed.”

“Damn right you weren’t,” Auruo pipes up and, after an audible gulp (Erwin raises an eyebrow but doesn’t remark on it), reveals in a harried undertone, “W-Well, Gunter wasn’t technically the first to ask Captain Levi about it—”

“I believe it was Miss Ral,” Erwin flashes a practiced smile, “who brought it up to Levi directly.  Or so I’ve been told.”

“What you’ve been told,” it’s rarer, if ever, that a solider attempts to match their superior officer’s mannerisms, “is true.” 

But all the blue bloods of the Capital’s royal circles combined couldn’t possess near the elegance and poise of one Petra Ral.

Erwin knew, deep down, these were trustworthy individuals.

That Levi chose his comrades based on three basic criteria – combat skills, instinctual reflexes, and intuition – and told him as much didn’t inspire any immediate unease. 

Nor did the countless stories, tongue-in-cheek and somber, about the four of his comrades on their initial missions and reactions to expeditions outside the Walls.

Nor did the rumors that Petra, favorably regarded among the younger scouts for her improvised vocal performances in the mess hall and her fierce temperament when she wasn’t playing the darling daughter of the local miller’s family business or the songbird of everyone’s eye, chased after Levi the way no sister or maternal figure would.

Erwin had a hunch, however, that what Levi trusted his squad with was a dangerous matter, indeed.

“Did he confide in you at all,” anyone listening from the outside might mistake them for beleaguered parents, “after you approached him?”

Inside, the visual cues spoke otherwise.  

Eld and Gunter sat forward in their seats while Auruo gave another nonplussed attempt to sip at his empty teacup. 

The sizeable tension of two individuals sizing one another up was something impossible to miss, after all.

“Based on how much he confides in you, sir,” Petra returns the favor, genuine as ever, “I suspect you know the answer to that question already.”

“Then should I suspect,” Erwin finds himself slipping into accents, enunciating the ends of his words, “you know what my next question will be, Miss Ral.”

Petra’s lips stretch over fine rows of teeth, a radiant look, and Erwin is almost fooled.

Almost.

Erwin is not fooled, but he does begin to see why the trainees from Levi’s graduating class tripped over themselves over this remarkable young woman. 

He recalls, in Shadis’s time as Commander and farther back still, the vocal dissent to women joining the military. 

He recalls, in vague terms, what they claimed would happen to the men, how desperate times did not call for such desperation as allowing ‘the weaker sex’ to join the frontlines. 

Recalls, with a bitter rush of irony surfacing unbidden, how often he had heard the same murmurs before he left the Smith estate and Upper Sina behind.

“Captain Levi doesn’t always confide in us.”  There are no formalities, no pleasantries, to this admission.  Petra smiles at him, sincerity sharpened by solicitousness.  “But whatever secrets he tells us – whenever he tells us – will stay secrets to our graves.”

The relief in their eyes when Erwin nods is all the reassurance he needs. 

“Thank you.”  He doesn’t often smile around the scouts, not allowing himself to grow too attached.  “I don’t usually ask anything of my soldiers, let alone a personal favor, but—”

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Eld laughs, good-natured and gallant, abating Gunter’s nervousness fading fast.  “Petra said it best and she speaks for all of us.” 

“As long as we’re around,” Gunter adds, the very face of gentility, “you don’t have to worry about Captain Levi.  Least of all when he’s here on the base.”

“Of course,” Auruo tags on, fidgeting with his cravat like he wants to have the last word, “you’re welcome to come and visit us anytime, Commander sir!  Hopefully,” his casual wryness, in its more honest form, does remind him a bit of Levi, “they’ll get that damn door fixed by the next time you stop by.”

Petra accompanies Erwin as he stands, Eld and Gunter and Auruo following after, and they see him as far as the door.

“Thank you,” auburn strands catch the cool evening’s tailwind, a sudden solidarity felt rather than expressed, “for coming to see us tonight, Commander.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” There’s a genuine smile on his face now, though, even if he suspects Petra will see right through him either way. 

He waits until Eld and Gunter depart back inside and for Auruo to (with obvious reluctance) turn to clean the table before Erwin leans down to murmur an order, a quiet disclosure, against the cleft of her ear.

An order that, he trusts, Petra can execute better than anyone else on the base.

 

* * *

 

“Keep up the good work,” is what Erwin lets the rest of the world hear as he straightens up and earns a salute from the girl in affirmative motion, “at keeping the boys in line, Miss Ral.  I’ll be counting on you.”

“Yes sir,” is what Petra relays back, a weightless laugh that flutters the ends of Erwin’s cloak toward her and a certain kind of softness to her smile that, in Erwin’s eyes, is nothing less than admirable.  “You can count on me.”

(If Levi can put his trust in these exceptional soldiers, Erwin will put his trust in them, in Petra, to _take care of him in my stead_ , should he find the need for secret-keepers that could carry the Commander – and his secrets – to his grave.)

 

* * *

 

“They’re good kids.  All four of them.” 

The solid form inches closer, closer, soon nestled against his side.

“Hearing you call them that feels creepy as hell.”

It’s instantaneous, now, the sense of security that accompanies the other man’s presence.

“Would you prefer it if I call them ‘our kids’?”

Once Levi lifts his head from Erwin’s chest, there’s a full frown on display.

“…That’s even worse.”

Erwin would have laughed, had they not thoroughly exhausted themselves for the last hour in bed.

“Age-wise,” a fair amount of shifting later, Erwin finds himself more tangled in Levi than the coverlets, “they could very well be my children.”

“Except,” Levi points out, “that wouldn’t work.  I’ve got a few years on Petra, maybe, even if she’s the oldest of the bunch.”

“Ah, well.”  Forgetting isn’t the same as choosing to overlook the finer details, he supposes.  “Both of you seem to hold your own around old men like me well enough.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call yourself an old man,” Levi snorts.

“It won’t be the last, either.”  Down to the dredges of this talk, Erwin decides to revert back to what started it:  “And I hope it won’t be the last time your squad proves how reliable they can be.”

“And like I told _you_ ,” Levi retorts, petulant, “you don’t have to worry about them.  They figured out about us all on their own, not because of anything I said, and it’s not my fault that Auruo can’t keep his trap shut.”

“Or that Petra rules the roost,” Erwin notes, no less amused by the image, “and Auruo listens to her as much as he does you.”

“He listens as well as the rest of them.”  They’ve discussed how flattering Auruo’s mimicry of Levi was, but this was the first visit where Erwin observed the oldest-looking scout’s barefaced admiration for the eldest of Levi’s squadmates.  “That brat only has eyes and ears for Petra, though.”

“It’s hard to blame him,” Erwin acquiesces, leaning down to swallow Levi’s murmured dismay from his open mouth.  “One would have to be blind as well as deaf to overlook someone as outstanding as Petra.”

“Careful, Commander.”  He’s no longer taken aback by how much easier vague smiles grace Levi’s features on nights like these, lips ghosting over the corner of his own as firm hands smooth their way down the knobs of his spine.  “You wouldn’t want to be accused of having relations with a scout half your age, would you?”

“They can accuse all they like.”  His Captain is not easy to appease, harder still to satisfy, but Erwin is nothing if not determined.  “Smoke isn’t the only thing one finds at the site of a fire, however.”

“A fire,” like signal flares, Erwin’s gaze lingers on the fading traces of smoke beneath the light in Levi’s eyes.  “You couldn’t have picked anything less cliché?”

Calling them a perfect match feels just as contrived.

But just as Levi did little to deny Petra’s charge made in passing on their way to the training grounds a week ago, Erwin did little more than verify that much today. 

Today, earlier, when he stopped by to talk with his squadmates. 

Today, earlier, when they sought to lessen the weight of the world.

Today, unlike the days growing more frequent where they’re kept apart, the night was theirs to cherish.

“Clichés are called tried and true,” an indulgent exhale to an inviting inhale against the hush of their private quarters, warm palms sidling between the sheets and seeking warmer flesh, “for a reason.”

(Calling their match a rekindling flame was far from an underused analogy.

Of course, Levi had no protests to the literal application of such an old saying.

As it turned out, neither did Erwin.)


	37. sometimes (it just doesn't go on as planned)

It was an urban legend that led Erwin to the Underground for the first time, years ago.

Around the scouts, around his closest confidants, he chose to call it business.  

Business, with no additional descriptions given.

Business, a precautionary measure. 

Should the higher-ups ever question his need to know more (the additional documents, the legionnaires’ presence during select court proceedings, the off-record interrogations of criminals that even Zacklay would balk over) the Commander takes to schooling his expression into strict lines of inflexible compliance and reminds them.

_Anything that seeks to threaten the safety of Humankind, be it earthly desires or Titans, is the Scouting Legion’s primary concern, Your Excellency._

Over time, the lies get easier and easier— 

As does believing them.

 

* * *

 

He’s heard the conspiratorial susurrations. 

None of them and all of them blend into each other, the more Erwin considers what he’s heard.  Engrained within them are surely some truths, but it’s an undertaking both ineffectual and impossible to handle alone.

A plot against the government. 

Based on what impetus? 

Public polls display rising discontent among a burgeoning middle class, districts from which many youth emerge and enlist in the army.

But Erwin can find no source to such discourse.

A plot created by the government. 

To what end?

They are pawns, mere puppets to whomever are dishing out the real orders.  If they wish to overthrow the aristocrats, the royalty, the Consulate officials, Erwin sees no point to that venture. 

But gut feeling alone cannot usurp a century-old social hierarchy.

A crusade, christened by the Cult’s funding, to control the masses that might otherwise rebel. 

Against whom? 

Erwin guesses the lower class and middle class citizens, the same denizens who condemn the carted bodies of soldiers who fought for them outside the Walls and hurl their regurgitated censure for the leader of the pack.

But Erwin bows his head not in shame but at their need to ascribe a scapegoat, someone who will allow them to denounce and deride them without fighting back.

It troubles him far more, keeps him awake at night much longer, to think there are some among these crowds who think there is a single enemy – a single entity – to blame.

 

* * *

 

_No one knows who built the Walls, but legend has it the ones who did were never seen again._

Those in the Underground with loose lips are erratic encounters, so he’s learned not to go by their well-versed verses alone.

_If there’s anyone alive that knows the secrets behind the Walls, you’ll have a real tough time getting them to talk._

He’s dealt with his fair share of clams who remain cloistered during cross-examinations; if traditional methods won’t work to slacken their jaws, then perhaps some monetary incentives might do the trick.

_They’re well-protected bastards, those Wall Cultists, but not if you’ve got some high-up military connections._

If he’s to play their game in their territory, rules are the last thing Erwin intends to contend with

_It’s not just the status quo you’re trying to shake here…is it, Erwin?_

He’s found that silence is a sword as much as it is a shield.

A double-edged sword? 

Yes.

But a weapon nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

“I’m not sure what little bird told you,” Major Pixis chuckles upon seeing the Captain and Commander escorted by a royal guard into his office, “about my personal library.  But I’m afraid none of my books are available to loan.”

The apology doesn’t stop Levi, who walks right to the front of Pixis’s desk.

“How about,” the proposition, no matter how much they practiced it on the carriage ride here, echoes for Erwin, “if we read something right here in your office where you can see us?”

Not a shred of disbelief to be found. 

“My, my.”  If Erwin didn’t know Pixis better, he would have taken the ostentatious disbelief as authentic.  “I’d say I found the little bird who informed the lions, but— my mistake.  You’re far less winged creature and far more a sharp blade, Captain Levi.”

“Glad to hear we’ve come to an agreement,” the monotonous passivity, of course, fools none in this room, “Major Pixis.”

Equal rank to the Scouting Legion’s Commander or not, Major Pixis is considered one of the most gregarious of the army’s high-leveled officials.

He is nothing if not composed, aplomb to the way he rises from his seat, striding to the bookshelves that stretch across an entire wall of his office.

He is nothing if not composed, amenable look on display for Erwin and Levi as they trail after him.

“So, gentlemen.” He is nothing if not gracious, too, when approached like this.  “Is there a specific book you’re hoping to find today?”

“Not a specific book, per se.  I did have a specific genre in mind.”  Erwin pauses when Levi’s hand finds his back, a solid tap to remind him.  He glances over the titles before he elaborates, “I see you’re a man who’s fond of philosophy, Major Pixis.”

“A few of these are more for show than anything,” Pixis confesses, though more than half the authors extolled by the spines are Old World philosophers Erwin remembers well from his own pleasure reading.  “But I’m a bit surprised someone as young as you would have an interest in the subject, Commander.”

“Don’t be fooled by his face, Major.”  Levi’s quip, though expected, does make the ends of Erwin’s lips quirk – and Pixis’s as well.  “He’s about as much of an old geezer as they come.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” chortles Pixis, the older man reaching for a tome on the top shelf.  “Speaking of things held…” 

The faded inscription of _Old World Religions_ glistens, silver paint emblazoned over aged leather.

“Are either of you familiar,” the Major flips through several chapters at a time, “with the Old World Religion known as Buddhism?”

Levi, thrown by the question as much as the mention of Religion, crinkles his nose. 

“Religion isn’t exactly the Legion’s forte.”

“Your Commander,” Pixis looks at Erwin as he says as much to Levi, “might be interested in this one, though.”

In his grandfather’s study, Erwin recalls a volume from an encyclopedic history and an entry he hasn’t forgotten even now.

“ _Muichi Motsu_.”  A defining phrase, one of the religion’s founding principles that he carries to this day.  “’Hold nothing, carry nothing.’  ‘Any and all things with physical form will eventually fade and perish.’  Essentially, those who practice Buddhism are urged ‘to live your life unbound by the chains of worldly desires.’  That way, you can live and die without regrets.”

“Awfully pessimistic,” Levi denotes, a mild retort, while he scans the open pages held out to him, “if not fatalistic.”

“Religious principles do overlap, sometimes.”  It isn’t the first time that Erwin’s commented on the very same thing.  It’s with reservation that he turns to meet Pixis’s unperturbed gaze, however.  “But I have to wonder why this book of Religion above all the others, Major."

Pixis’s smile is much like the dharmic teaching described.

“Because beasts and birds alike,” his reply is the essence nothing held, nothing carried, “should take care not to hold on too tight to their material possessions.”

“Material possessions,” Levi’s eyes narrow, suspicion well warranted, “like what?”

But this self-possessed man gives no answers and – in the strangely unsettling silence, Erwin realizes, what Pixis knows he will never tell a living soul – takes no sides.

“I mean it just as you said, Commander.”  It’s a warning which accompanies the wizened eyes that flicker from Erwin – and, then, to Levi.  “All worldly possessions are doomed to fade and perish.” 

“So keep anything you want to hold onto at arm’s length, gentlemen, since you never do know what the future holds.”

 

* * *

 

(The less they know of his ambitions, the lesser the opportunity for anyone to find the cracks in his armor.

The less they know of his plans, the lesser the chance of anyone bringing them harm.

The more he knows, however, the less sure he is of the choice he’s made – and the more distance, he finds, becomes an increasing priority.)

 


	38. oh, glory

When word reaches the Legion, Erwin is already halfway out the door to his office on his way to meet Levi for lunch.

It's barely a few feet away from locking his office door that he hears the vibrations, heard and not entirely unfelt.

The quake is vehement, immediate.

But it doesn’t send Erwin’s world off-balance at first, not until he recognizes what it means.

 

* * *

 

It’s Nanaba who rushes near headlong into his arms and informs him. 

They ran from the base all the way to the main Headquarters, sent by Mike while the Squad Leader fetches any and all scouts he can gather to form and assemble their respective groups. 

Over a minute of coaxing and reassuring transpires before the hyperventilating Nanaba regains composure to speak.

Fear for their lives is what Erwin expects to seize him when he asks _that wasn’t an earthquake, was it?_

_No, it’s…it’s the Colossal Titan!  It’s reappeared and smashed the gates to the Trost District, Commander!_

Yet it isn’t fear that compels him to _order all available troops who can fight to deploy_.

 

(What he fears instead – what shakes him down to the core – is the possibility that it won’t be enough.)

 

* * *

 

“On a scale of one to ten,” Zoë enthuses, teeming with excess energy, but there’s a somber underscore to how she carries on, “how ready do you think Shadis’s new graduates are for this?”

“Probably three,” Mike fastens the last buckle of his gear straps, retracting his leg from its propped position on a nearby storehouse crate.  “And a half.”

“Considering none of us were prepared for our first expedition,” Zoë, stare downcast, checks the trigger switch of her grapple hooks, “I’d say two and a half.  They’re being thrown out there in the middle of an emergency, Mike.” 

When Mike and Zoë looks toward him with expectation, Erwin offers them the briefest of smiles and – when Nanaba and Moblit brush past him, reporting to their Squad Leaders and the Commander that all the troops are _ready to go_ – he turns toward the gates and motions for them to follow.

There, he knows, Levi waits already perched atop his horse, waiting for Erwin even when his Captain knows they’ll mobilize to opposite ends of the district.

“We were thrown into an emergency situation, too.”  Back then, Erwin recalls all too clearly, the three of them earned their first solo – and assisted – kills.  “But we made it back to the base alive.”

Should all good fortune be in their favor, Erwin hopes today will be no different.

 

* * *

 

(“Fan-fucking-tastic timing the Colossal Titan had in showing its ugly mug,” Levi remarks, straddling his horse the same way he had Erwin not even ten hours previous.  “We both had the day off, Erwin.  The first time in over a **year**.”

“I’d promise to make it up to you once this is all over,” Erwin deliberates the prospect, for a moment, until he remembers that several scouts are mounting their steeds around them, “but something tells me we won’t have the luxury of guarantees after today.”

Having learned on the streets and in the military not to let emotion show at times like these, Erwin thinks he’s imagined the brief flicker of solemnity on Levi’s face.

It isn’t until he’s ordered the rest of the legionnaires to flank Mike’s squad that the Commander finds Levi – checking once, twice, that none of the soldiers have turned back, and then the Captain’s mare trots over to his stallion so that Levi can pull him down for a bruising kiss – is perhaps more transparent than he’s aware of.

“We will,” Levi assures him, shrugging Erwin’s hood over his eyes before he does the same for himself and leaves to move to the left flank as per usual group formation.  “And you’d better.”

The visible curl of a wan half-smirk isn’t lost on Erwin – and neither is the implication to _come back safe_ that reassures they’ll return from this emergency with more than enough time left to spare.)

 

* * *

 

Above the charred carcasses and crushed corpses and hollowed homes, Pixis spoke not of Old World Religions but of a man he once knew back in the army.

His name, his face, and his reputation preceded him. 

According to Pixis, he was an inconspicuous sort, the kind you wouldn’t expect to have the knowledge he did.

_Knowledge of what, Major?_

What knowledge, indeed.

_Medicine, for one thing.  Grisha could take one look at you and make a diagnosis.  He’d be right on target every time._

It seemed the ethics and techniques of human medicine wasn’t the only thing that, as Underground records Erwin managed to get his hands on indicated, Grisha specialized in.

_Was he formally trained?_

_Never went to a university._

_That’s a shame.  From what you’ve told me, he might have gone down in history as one of the best practitioners in his field._

_Yes.  A damn shame, really._

Grisha’s personal research, in fact, only revealed itself in scattered document sheets left behind in various places within the Walls long after he left the military’s mobilized medical squad.

_Well, I suppose that’s not nearly as much a shame as I make it sound._

Erwin’s district-hopping and information-gathering yielded no answers for what the serums mentioned in journal logs and draft notes he compiled until that day.

_Was he an— unconventional sort of doctor-in-training, then, the kind scholars would disagree with?_

But it should have been no surprise. 

_I wouldn’t say that, Commander._

The most awe-inspiring of people tend to be the most discreet.

_More like…_

On the surface, anyway.

_…A ‘hunter’ of  greater pursuits of knowledge than a doctor would ever have use for._

**  
**


	39. to turning tables

As it turned out, the Legion was only needed to sweep up the messes made by the other divisions.

The story resonates from one end of the Walls to the other.

Through the resolution of an impromptu squad of amateur soldiers, forged together by a desperate situation, more than half of the graduates of the 104th Trainee Squad returned from Trost and returned to the Central Base alive.

The other half were either declared deceased or, in the words of medics who found fractions of bodies and unsubscribed to accountability, presumed missing in action.

Had they acted sooner, the lives of young people wouldn’t have been lost.

Had the Military Police intervened with the cooperation of the Garrison imminent, they might not have lost so many civilians in the crossfire.

Had their options not been as scattered as they were, Erwin thinks they might have been able to keep the situation from turning into a cross-district debacle.

“If we tell them the truth,” Chief Dawk bristles at the very suggestion of a public statement, whirling around from his pacing around the impassive Major Pixis and statue-still Commander Smith, “they’ll have our fucking _heads_ , you realize.”

“Our heads – up here and down there – are constantly at risk of decapitation,” Pixis regards the youngest of them, a guillotine motion to go with his riposte, “Chief.”

“How can you crack jokes at a time like this—?!”

“Laughter is powerful medicine,” smirks Pixis, no malice to his practiced graciousness.  “As is alcohol. And until the Consulate finish fluffing their feathers in that meeting with Generalissimo Zacklay, I suspect we’ll need plenty of both while we wait for whatever their final verdict will be.”

“A verdict,” Nile rasps, sounding rather close to delirium-induced hysterics at this point.  He looks to the Legion’s Commander, at length, equal parts sullen and searching.  “Please tell me the Major hasn’t lost his mind entirely, Erwin.”

Erwin might have given him quite an answer, then, had he been given the opportunity.

But the door to the precinct command center finds itself rammed open, the resonating slam making three heads turn immediately to the arrival of a pungent odor.

Metallic burn, a scent much like oil. 

Perspiration. 

 _Blood_.

“Erwin.”  Shaking off his fire-scorched cloak the instant he crosses the entryway in spite of Nile’s absolute look of horrification, Levi all but throws the steaming boy hoisted unconscious over his shoulder onto one of the chairs in the precinct lobby.  “Brought you back a souvenir from Trost that I think you and Major Pixis and Chief Cactus Face might be interested in.”

The Major, unsurprisingly, lets out a thunderous laugh.

The Police Chief, unsurprisingly, looks ready to rip his – as well as the Captain and Commander of the Legion’s – hair off.

Commander Erwin Smith, unsurprisingly, turns to his former comrade and the Major and flashes them both a disarming smile.

“Well,” Erwin announces, to the strangled objections from Nile’s mouth hanging ajar, “the Consulate will have to speed up their decision-making bodies now, I suppose, now that the Titan Boy in question is in Military Police custody.”

(Without having to turn around, Erwin hears Levi’s audible snort and – despite himself – begins to laugh.)

 


	40. we're coming closer now (to the truth)

Always one step ahead and of dueling tactical stances – that was how the Scouting Legion ran.

( _Commander, Captain, Squad Leaders, please don’t head back just yet!_ )

Unexpected delays, dead-end premonitions, a deficit in the budget or in their warehouse – all of these things were relative. 

( _Hamilton.  Take a moment to compose yourself, please.  Did you run here all the way from Headquarters?_ )

All worth reconsideration at a later date.

( _A telegram just arrived addressed to you, sent from the Garrison!_ )

All reclaimable.

( _From Major Pixis?_ )

But the one and only elusive part about his chosen profession, Erwin finds, is in the human losses.

( _Yes sir!_ )

The struggle to comprehend.

( _Has it been transcribed yet?_ )

The process, gradual and stilting, that accompanies grief sealed cork-tight.

( _It was…a garbled mess of phrases, sir, perhaps on purpose to evade interception.  But Remington’s sure the words “meet at Precinct” were scrambled in the anagrams and—_ )

The acceptance that someone, somewhere, will be out there watching.

( _Thank you.  That’ll do, Hamilton._ )

Sometimes more than one _—_

( _All Squad Leaders, proceed!  I’ll rejoin the main fleet once I’ve dealt with this and send an all-green from our messengers from the Inner District...prepare your status reports for when I’ve returned to the base._ )

 _—_ but always to be viewed by dual standpoints: a tactical standpoint and a human standpoint.

( _Yes sir!_ )

Always.

 

* * *

 

According to the urban legends echoed by shadowed Underground denizens, the Titans weren’t the only monsters to be feared - within and outside these Walls.

Erwin had his hunches as to who the real monsters were.

Not a conspiracy theory as much as he was a skeptic, he always wondered since he was a child as to how Humanity could have been sheltered for a hundred years without interruption.

But Erwin never had any guesses as to why.

Now even more so.

The tall tales he gleaned from investigation sounded more like legends.  Vague analogies.  Epithets.  References drifting past the lips of homeless hermits in hoarse whispers.

As if in fear of a greater force listening that would hear the names voiced in vain.

What they feared, Erwin could only imagine. 

 

* * *

 

What they feared, Erwin’s imagination could only wonder.

“Erwin,” Nile rounds on him, despite the direction of his pointed finger of blame. “You **really** need to put a leash on that dog of yours—“

Fear is the last thing on his mind.

“No need for that.” He still wonders why Pixis summoned him to the precinct in the first place; in due time, Erwin hopes, such wisdom will return to him as Levi back to his side.  “He came back to me all on his own.”

“A dog?” Pixis rubs at the crook of his chin with a pensive hum.  “If he’s a dog at all, he’s a dog worth having around.  Just look at the interesting bone this ‘dog’ fetched for us.”

A hand at the small of Levi’s back.

Realizing himself – and the relevance of where they are – all rising heckles still.

“Levi,” intones Erwin, a businesslike regard.  His hand stays, hidden behind the crest of the Legion cloak.  A cloak his Captain has yet to remove.

“Erwin,” returns Levi, no less professional.  It’s a dance they’ve practiced time and again amidst the public eye. 

“Last we spoke,” it’s not a lecture, but Erwin knows he’ll be understood, “you told me you were on your way to reconvene with your squad at the base.”

“I was.”  There’s no fight to Levi’s lifted gaze; not here, not among uncommon company.  “But your orders didn’t account for three brats who wandered too far out from the Garrison’s troops and happened to catch my eye on the flight back.”

There’s a loaded silence, then, to their unspoken apprehension.

“Three?”  Nile chimes in then, voicing Erwin’s concerns.  “You mean there’s more?”

The sound, telltale, doesn’t escape any of them.

Whether born into the military life, inherited to a role unsurpassed, or a proprietor of militaristic technology advances, not one of the men standing in that lobby could miss what they heard outside then.

The failing engines of someone’s Three-Dimensional Maneuver Gear, the wind’s resistance to the gear-wearing soldier who’s just touched ground, and the impact of gear tanks dropping to the granite to a startled set of four pairs of eyes.

A set of four pairs of eyes flicker to the door, slammed open once more, at the bidding of a red-scarfed soldier.

A red-scarfed solder who, trailed by a panic-stricken blond soldier, unsheathes her blades.

Blades that, upon appearance, spur the youngest of the quartet—

—to bring out his own.

“You,” she heads straight for the two Legion officers, the broken tip blunted but no less dangerous when brandished close to Levi’s cheek, “owe us an explanation.”

Despite how informal her tone is, despite Nile’s blatant attempt to call for security, Erwin shakes his head. 

He knows Levi, well acquainted with the flare of old habits reemerging. 

If needed, Levi could grab this soldier by the wrist, tackle her to the floor with practiced ease, and disarm her immediately. 

If needed, Erwin has his trump cards to play here as well.

The Commander is not frightened by this and neither is his Captain.

“Mikasa,” the other new arrival stumbles over, a trembling arm reaching for her, “don’t—!”

“Stand down, Ackerman.” 

It’s Levi's command, his confirmation, which seals their identities. 

These were the three children who escaped from Shinganshina, the same three who were at the destruction site when the district was overrun by that first wave of Titans five years ago. 

“Not until you,” Mikasa fumes, “stand away from him.”

“Apparently, I wasn’t making myself clear enough.”  Levi’s hard-edged cadence doesn’t bend.  Neither does his swords crossed with hers, pushing her farther away from Erwin.  “I said stand _down_ , Ackerman.  Tagalong or not, you’re a soldier, in case you forgot.  And soldiers out of line don’t deserve explanations.”

He should – and certainly could – move between them.

“You’d take someone into custody who can’t even speak for himself, let alone move?”  Mikasa’s stare doesn’t waver, but the words draw Erwin’s gaze away to the boy in question – a prone form slumped in the chairs, the shuddering heave and sinking motion to his mud-soiled shirt clinging to his chest alerting them to the fact he was still breathing.  “I think it’s clear who’s more out of line between us, Captain.”

Neither speak, having reached a temporary truce, and Erwin thinks this would be the time to step in.

“Captain Levi, sir!”

But he’s too slow.

“I understand why you escorted Eren away from the battlefield.”  Previously quiet as a mouse, the elfin boy pipes up and appears much less diffident now that all eyes are on him.  “But with all due respect, Captain, having us pursue you on 3DMG and expecting us to—”

“—to chase him, only to find out he was taking Eren here, Armin.”  Dark locks shift to reveal a vituperative glare, sent in Levi’s direction even while she addresses the smallest of their trio.  “ **Here** , of all places.”

“Better here than left for dead like he would’ve been.”  It’s a point worth making, Erwin has to admit, given the state of Trost’s still-infested battlegrounds.  “Lucky for you and Arlert and this Titan-shifting brat, I happened to be flying over the area and saw you about to get attacked by that rouge Abnormal.”

Nile’s punctuated sigh and Pixis’s vaguely intrigued expression do little to deter the startled hush that reveals itself.

“I’ll ask again.”  Erwin has to admire her tenacity, given the circumstances.  “What are you planning to do with Eren?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.  The brat’s in MP custody now, so that’s not our division.”  Erwin notes the lack of objections from Nile, a marked difference from earlier.  “And even if it was, what’s it to you?”

Silence.

Everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief when a quavering grip on the gunblade handle leads to an outstretched arm dropping.

(But it’s far from relief that makes the girl’s shoulders slump and her knees suddenly  give way as if exhausted, Erwin realizes, as she murmurs something under her breath:

“…Everything…”

If Levi’s heard her at all, he doesn’t address it.)

“Look,” Erwin’s never heard Levi converse with soldiers as anything less than brusque, but there’s sympathy that softens to the remonstration that follows.  “The brat’s getting a trial.  That’s more than anyone the rest of the world sees as a circus show deserves.”

Both start at the descriptor, as if it were addressed to them.

But it’s not the red-scarved warrior who lets her disapproval be known.

“Eren isn’t—!” 

“If that’s how you feel, then would you at least put a bit of faith in the Legion to speak on his behalf?”

It’s Armin who recollects himself first, peering at the taller man who’s strode over to join them.

“Commander,” is the shorter blond’s reverent exhale, “sir.”

“—Arlert and Ackerman, was it?  I see you know who Levi is already, but it only seems fair to introduce myself now.”  Pleasantries were his specialty and, thankfully, he doesn’t have to so much as glance at Levi before his blades retract as well.  “Erwin Smith, 13th Commander of the Scouting Legion.  I apologize for having you fly all the way here.”

“Armin Arlert, sir.”  Mikasa offers a muted mention of her name as she stands while Armin, no less formal, salutes his superior officer.  “I didn’t expect to see you here at the precinct, Commander.”

“Well,” a wan smile feels out of place here, but it’s the first reaction he settles on.  “At times as dire as these, we’re usually called into the battlefront to intervene—”

“—but you’re here for Eren?”

Right to the point, then.

“More or less.”  He’s just as Shadis described.  Perceptive.  Tactful.  A seasoned speaker, despite his lack of military experience.  “But, as I hope Levi’s made clear to you, our highest priority is an Eren who can speak for himself at the trial.”

The trial. 

Erwin almost forgot about it himself. 

In the midst of all that’s transpired, Erwin discovers he isn’t the only one.

“Honesty is a rare commodity nowadays, Commander Erwin.”  Ah, yes, and the other attribute Zoë noted while she sat and watched the trainees during their drills: brilliant blue eyes, as wide as they were critical.  “If you don’t mind my insubordination, I have to ask…how can we be so sure that’s the truth?”

 

* * *

 

_At the top of their class, ranked highest respectively for their top-tier practical exam scores, tactical combat scores, and hand-to-hand combat scores—_

“I won’t ask for your trust, Arlert. That would be cruel of me on top of presumptuous, given the circumstances.”

 

_Armin Arlert._

“Then what will you ask of us, Commander Erwin Smith?”

 

_Mikasa Ackerman._

“I only ask for your cooperation in this matter.”  Erwin halts to motion in the direction of the slumbering Eren, “as I believe all of us in this room consider Eren’s life of utmost priority.”

 

_And—_

“Eren will thank you for that, I’m sure.”  It’s graciousness that lifts and swells at the thin corners of Armin’s mouth, genuine and gentle.  “When he wakes up, I’ll make sure to tell him that you and Captain Levi were to thank for all of us getting back safely.”

 

_Ah.  That’s right._

“I’d appreciate that.  Thank you both.”

 

_His last name, Shadis told me, was—_

“Not at all.  Thank you, Commander, for hearing us out.”

 

_—Jaeger._

_Quite a fitting name for a man who chases after knowledge from before his time_

_like a starved beast, isn’t it?_

**  
**


	41. empty (as my conscience seems to be)

When Nile strides right past them with several security officers in tow and the most burly of them lifts Eren into his arms, Mikasa is on the move.

Levi is quicker.

Even if he only just manages to keep her from lunging for them, it’s the difference made that Erwin appreciates.

“Hold on—!”  Armin, much to Levi’s visible disgruntlement, slips right past them to chase after the wardens who cast a shadow upon his slight frame.  “Where are you taking him to?”

“You don’t expect us,” the shortest of the uniformed guards emphasizes, “to just leave this…thing around and wait to see what happens, do you?  A holding cell’s the best place for a monster like him.” 

“This supposed monster,” Armin hisses through his teeth, fists clenched, “is a human being.”

“Well,” a lanky member of the defense squad all but sneers, from behind the burly one carting Eren over his shoulder, “we’ll let Generalissimo Zacklay decide whether that’s true or not.”

From the gasps echoing, he’s not the only one aghast over this inhumane treatment.

A glance around and about tells him Major Pixis has disappeared somewhere, too, to the point that it escaped even Levi’s scrutiny.

Did the troops need reinforcement orders that the interim officers on the field didn’t anticipate? 

Was it Pixis’s disappearance or his own distractibility that gave Nile the opportunity to send for guards? 

“Wouldn’t it be just as well,” a paltry appeal, but everything about this attempt at preemptive safety protocol unsettles him, “to hear Arlert and Ackerman’s testimonies while they’re still—”

Erwin receives no answers from the security guards shuffling away.

Nor from the Police Chief.

Not at first.

“Nile.”  The younger man turns to Erwin at length, causes his retreating guards to halt in their tracks.  “I hardly think Eren deserves a holding cell.”

Just like when they were trainees, Nile takes roots to where he stands.

“You’re right.”  Just like when they were trainees, too, Nile never bends in matters of conviction.  “If anything, an animal deserves a cage.  We’ve got bigger ones in the adjoining courthouse, so we’ll put him down there instead.”

Just like when they were teenagers, Nile never looks away from him unless he has something to hide.

“Nile,” Erwin’s throat runs dry.  “What did Pixis tell you that changed your tune so suddenly?”

The longer Nile refuses him a response, the clearer the conspiracies become.

The longer Erwin considers Pixis’s withheld information, the closer the key to what they’re being guided toward becomes.

“He told me as much as he told you,” The Chief wrenches free from his hold and Erwin realizes, then, that Nile’s hasn’t looked up at him.  “The rest of the story’ll come out once we bring him to the courthouse.”

Not even once. 

“ _Nile!_ ”

He isn’t sure whether it’s the shuffling rush of Levi and Mikasa in opposition behind him or the plaintive bargaining Armin tries to win over the guards with now that makes his voice hitch. 

“Erwin, what the hell are you doing?”

He isn’t sure it’s the way he’s seized Nile, pulling his arm with such forcefulness, or the desperate call of his name that bade the hard lines of Nile’s face begin to relent.

“Will you send word to the Legion when Eren wakes up, at least?”

He isn’t sure of anything certain about these circumstances slowly spiraling out of control, out of **his** control.

“You’re talking as if he’ll be up and about,” Nile shoots back, “sooner than the week we’re giving him.”

But he’s sure that the longer he waits, the more he fears whatever Pixis is guiding them toward will get farther and farther away.

“I’m hoping for that,” admits Erwin, more to himself than to Nile, offering nothing short of an affable smile.  “But I’m hoping for many things to work themselves out before then.” 

Their only chance is Eren.

“—As long as your telegraph works, you’ll hear from me.”

The living embodiment of hope, as he was in resealing the gates of Trost.

“Thank you, Nile…and you’ll hear from me as well.”

 

* * *

 

Eren Jaeger is the living embodiment of that chance.

So, of course, they’ll take that chance in any shape or form it comes in.

Human or Titan.

 

* * *

 

Pixis never does reappear in the waiting area of the precinct.

Nevertheless, they wait for him in an office waiting area at the junction of corridors branching off inside the precinct. 

Levi and Erwin do, anyway.

Armin and Mikasa, corralled into the interrogation room, were flanked too closely by guards joining them – looking none too pleased to have more duties to fulfill – to pursue.

Within a half-hour’s time, the soldiers find themselves escorted back to Central Base sooner than Erwin can convince the junior officer turned messenger to let them stay.

“It’s fine,” Armin smiles, and the weariness that wilts his wiry frame reminds Erwin of the failure of an expedition that was the Reclamation Project, the way Zoë sagged against his back and Mike’s arms clung to their huddled forms in the back of that horse-drawn wagon of covered corpses.  “They told us we’ll get a summons when Eren’s woken up.  Something tells me we’ll be brought in for the trial, too, if only to stand as witnesses.”

“Let us know if you find out anything else before then, though.”  The fact that Mikasa doesn’t have to add on _about Eren_ speaks volumes for her concern, but it’s the supplication of, “please” that compels Erwin to stand.

“We will,” Erwin assures them.  “Have a safe trip back to Central, soldiers.   You’ve had a long day.”

Not bothering to look up from the report notes he’s procured from one of the open offices, cloak drawn around him like a shawl, Levi offers them a sage nod. 

It’s enough.

A light peal of laughter from Armin, a poised salute from Mikasa.

And then – swiftly as they arrived – they depart.

“So Jaeger nearly died,” Levi announces, once Erwin returns from instructing a messenger scout on surveillance duty to send an ‘all-green’ signal to any wayward troops, “trying to save Arlert from getting eaten by a Titan.”

“Would you call him a brave fool,” Erwin remarks, peering overhead to read what was written for their witness accounts, “or foolishly brave, I wonder?”

“It says he saved Ackerman,” Levi pauses only to shift closer until Erwin feels the crown of his hair resting against the back of his palm.  “Twice.”

“Twice as brave?” 

“More like,” Levi rebukes, a click of his tongue, “twice as stupid.”

It’s almost eerie, how their voices reverb and bounce back through the narrow halls.

But there's a lack of background noise, sealed in a vacuum that colonizes here while the police are forced to stay above ground and do the jobs they’d been appointed to do.

It’s deceptive complacence. 

A false peace. 

The calm after the initial upsurge, if nothing else.

And neither of them remain under any delusions that more aren’t on the way, either.

“Commander Smith.”  Peering around the corner is one of the guards from earlier.  “The Chief wants to speak with you in his office.  If you head straight down this hall, it should be your—”

“—second to the last large door on the left, correct?”  Erwin dismisses him over the patroller’s sputtered apology, “When you visit the precinct as often as I do, it’s a matter of course that you learn your way around.”

Once the flustered officer skulks away in the appointed, Erwin makes to follow before he find himself yanked by the sleeve.

“When Fuzz Face gets done grilling you,” Levi’s breath washes over his ear when he’s pulled down to the younger man’s level, “show me around a bit.”

Opportunist or not, Erwin knows he’s nowhere near the natural sleuth Levi is.

Which is why, with initial reluctance, he’s had Levi join in the ‘business’ of uncovering any and all leads to the secrets they wanted to elucidate.

Which is why, with waning reluctance, he’s had Levi take to the streets of Lower Sina to do some investigating of his own.

Which is why, with little to no resistance, he’s found Levi had no qualms about playing his partner in crime.

“I hope you know I was exaggerating a bit,” Erwin’s arm slips around to rest at Levi’s waist, “about knowing this place as well I as do.”

There’s a small key that he spots beneath the last slivers of vermillion daylight, tucked safe in the breast pocket of Levi’s uniform beneath the emerald folds of his cloak.

A key that, in the disorder the guards were over his uncharacteristically bold approach earlier, they likely wouldn’t miss.

If they missed it at all.

“I’ve been in the mood for handcuffs and a bit of exploring in the dark.”  His Captain rarely lets his smiles be seen, but Erwin can feel it against the open thrum of life between his throat and jawline.  “And I know you know just the place for that.”

Indeed, he does.

“Then I’ll meet you there,” Erwin tells him, at audible volume, as he pulls away, “when I’ve finished my meeting with the Chief.”

(But knowing is only half the battle – the other half, cooperation, being an exercise in trust that suits no one better than Levi.)

 

* * *

 

“Stopped to smell the roses on your way over here, Commander Smith?”

Erwin takes this to be his cue to shut the door behind him.

“Your office isn’t exactly the easiest to find.”

From the open case files laid across his desk and his office’s general state of untidiness, Erwin wonders if Nile prefers it that way.

“You’re an even harder man to track down.”

Not that Erwin was any different.

“Some might consider that a positive trait.”

The folder stack at the corner of his desk wavers when Erwin sweeps into a seat.

“You know what they’re capable of, don’t you?”

Without context, one might lose their way in a conversation like this.

“I’m very well aware, Nile.”  The Consulate, Erwin muses, has an unmistakable reputation among the military’s ranks.  If ceremonies of human sacrifices like those in rural villages were a common ritual within the Walls today, the government-protected officers would be the ones jeering for fresh blood from the highest hillside.  “It’s just as Pixis said: interference on our part in this scapegoating will mean our heads.”

Erwin isn’t afraid of these men – jeering from their justified safe haven, lobbing stones from their balcony spot, reaching for jewels excavated by the ones with their faces pressed to the dirt – so spineless that they’d put a fifteen year old boy on trial for the crime of ignorance.

A crime that, to Erwin, is no crime at all.

“There’s nothing that Major Weirdo does or says I’d agree with normally.”  With the last of the case files read at last, Nile’s hands fold atop the scattered articles on his desk.  “But he’s on the mark about that.”

An unspoken agreement.

“About Eren Jaeger being of more danger alive than dead?”  Erwin leans forward in his chair.  “I won’t disagree with that much, even if there’s no more proof to the former than the latter.”

What startles him isn’t the narrowed gaze that lifts to meet his.

“Erwin.  You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

It’s the knowing, Erwin thinks to quell the uprising tides within, that does them in every time.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d take that as a sign you were worried about me.”

It’s the knowing, Erwin thinks to the sight behind closed eyes of bridges burned, that neither chose wrong.

“…Cocky bastard.”  At odds as they are – as they’ve always been – the familiarity of such an insult tilts the ends of his burgeoning smile.  “And to think, even after we graduated, I was still worrying about you.”

It’s the knowing, Erwin finds, that stirs up his bottled-up regrets.

“…Nile—”

“Forget it.  The past is the past.”  Except it _isn’t_ , Erwin finds himself on the verge of saying aloud, managing only just to repress the urge.   “Sorry I brought it up.”

(There are far more apologies they might indulge in someday.

Another chance, he channels the defeat into a fist clenched, in this unspoken admission.

When the wounds aren’t as fresh, Erwin hopes, they can talk this over properly.)

“More importantly.”  Speaking to shatter the silence, Nile props one boot atop the burgundy-painted surface.  “Be honest with me, Erwin.  What are you and Captain Shortstop after here, getting yourself involved in this case?”

The pending Consulate trial-by-fire with Eren Jaeger isn’t the only thing Nile has on his mind.

“It’s about what I told you,” honesty, Erwin suspects, isn’t all that Nile wants to hear from him, “on our final night as trainees.” 

It’s confirmation.

“The truth behind how these Walls were built.  The Titans.  Why they’re here, why they came back to break down these Walls after a century of silence, where they came from…how is it possible that not one person knows the real story behind all  this?”  It’s an old argument, one that Erwin’s spoken of countless times in their more impetuous days.   “There has to be someone who knows the truth out there, Nile, and whatever that truth is, it’s something the people need to know—”

“—Erwin!”

It’s the implicit nuance, the hollowness to how Nile addresses him by given name that stops him. 

“I know what you’re after.”  It’s not glower nor grimace that Nile’s visage displays.  Nor is it disappointment.  “But you know damn well what I’m trying to say here.”

He does.

“You have a choice.”  Pain, just as Erwin’s learned in his time as Commander, comes in forms both visceral and complex.  “Don’t let it be theirs.”

A suggestion as much as it is a demand.

“I know, Nile.” 

As he rises, Erwin doesn’t look back.

“Don’t let a lead like this get to your head.” 

He hears the warning loud and clear, a gruff utterance that he hears even from the other side of the door:

_Don’t let it be your head they come after next._


	42. of human nature and the need to be loved (just like everybody else does)

“I want in, Erwin.”

He expected Levi to have already found his way down to Eren’s holding cell. 

“You’ve already made quite a dent in the precinct’s front lobby door.”  Maybe Levi had long scoped out the location of it; Erwin could only theorize.  “If that’s what you mean.”

Arms crossed at his chest, the Captain’s significant lack of a Legion cloak made Erwin wonder where Levi had left it.  The coat hanger in the lobby? 

Then again, considering the tattered state of it, Erwin wouldn’t doubt Levi choosing to trash the _dirty_ thing instead of keeping it.

“I mean in what you and Fuzz-Face were talking about just now.”

As he thought.

“I thought you wouldn’t be interested.”  Rarely would Erwin chastise Levi for eavesdropping, but this time was an exception.  “If I recall correctly, you told Ackerman earlier the boy ‘wasn’t our division.’”

The report files are gone as well, Erwin realizes.

“That was before Arlert told me they wanted to see what it’s like outside the Walls.”

So taken aback by the revelation, Erwin has to walk quicker than usual to catch up to Levi – already heading to the door leading to the adjoining courthouse, through the atrium leading to a staircase, veering slightly to the right to open an unmarked door that leads to the cells down below.

Leading him.

“Levi.”  He’s unfamiliar with what materializes in the surface of his thoughts— anxious agitation, something altogether strange for how infrequent it is.  “Jaeger isn’t a common surname, but we have no idea whether Eren has any—”

The authority isn’t what makes Levi whirl around to face him, though.

“The brat’s got connections, Erwin.”  Rationalization out of fear of the unknown.  Levi knows well enough how it works, knows him well enough.  “Why the hell else would the Consulate want his head on a silver platter?”

“Because there are people who fear,” his voice steeled, Erwin finally meets Levi’s strides, “what they can’t understand.”

He speaks of the citizens who’ve just gotten the news by now, no doubt, of the atrocities and triumphs in Trost, but of others as well.  Others he aims to keep at arm’s length.

Others who deserve better than to be put in harm’s way.

“You’re right.”  Levi always gives as good as he gets, of course.  “The fat pigs in their castle mansions and the commoners in their shanty houses all have one thing in common: they’re scared shitless of a possibility.”

“That’s true,” Erwin agrees, temporarily thrown by Levi’s tangent.

“But the brat’s a possibility for us, too.”

“A possibility.”  Even while the halls are still quiet, Erwin grits his teeth and stands firm in this.  “Not a surefire lead or a connection.”

“But he could be.”  Not since the day they met – the fight in the alley – has Erwin found himself bested in every aspect by Levi.  “Eren Jaeger, Grisha Jaeger, this Titan-sized shitfest of a conspiracy—” 

It isn’t until Levi’s lowered his voice that the hands placed at his shoulders drop. 

“If they’re connected, Erwin – _if_ – that’s a connection that could bring us farther into this conspiracy than we’ve ever been.”

“Farther into a conspiracy,” Erwin lets his voice drop even lower, to a veritable whisper, “that could get us both killed.”

He’s surprised, in all honesty, that Levi doesn’t call him out on that weak justification.

“Listen to me.”  His mind drifts to when Levi first joined the Legion: his trainee years, the transitioning years, when _Erwin’s boy_ and _the Commander’s Pet_ were accusations yet to be denied.  “There are far too many things we don’t know here.  About these connections, about what the Consulate knows, about what Pixis knows—” 

He recognizes what’s boiling over now, what he can’t bear to reconcile within himself and what sends his thoughts into such disarray.

“I’m sorry for bringing you into this, Levi.”

It’s guilt. 

The guilt of knowing. 

The guilt of accepting self-imposed blame, in the taut silence, for chasing paper trails in the quest for something greater than they could handle.

“No.”  But Levi is no longer nineteen, eighteen, sixteen going on seventeen, no longer fifteen – wild, a stranger to Erwin in name and in nature – or an unpolished gem that Erwin’s found of his own volition.  “No, fuck you, you piece of shit, you’re not _sorry_ —“

“Levi,” Erwin says, quieter than ever, “I’m sorry.”

When Levi shoves him against the brick wall of that the dark cellar staircase, Erwin lets him.

“You’re not.”  There’s a fury in Levi eyes, to the tremor felt in the unsteady grip Levi has on the front of his jacket, to the trembling curl of his lips.  “You’re not sorry.  You’re scared.”

“From the look of things, I’d say you’re projecting what you’re feeling onto me.”

What stings, far deeper past the bone than usual, is that Levi isn’t.

“You’re scared,” Levi presses on, presses his palms to Erwin’s chest and searches his eyes for a reaction, “of not having all your shit together.  You’re scared of not having control.”

What stings all the more, a smarting ache that joins in the guilt, is that Levi isn’t wrong.

“I don’t think any of us have control,” Erwin almost gives in, then, something like pity making his own hands unfurl, “of what the future holds.”

What stings, a pain far worse than any gash or tear or reopened scar ripped tender again, is admitting it.

Their foreheads crash together at the harsh tug at his collar; their faces, closer than ever, nearer to parallel points. 

But, as always, it’s Levi who’s managed to catch him off guard.

“Don’t spout shit like that and expect me to just take it.”  Like this, they’ve transported back to over a year ago when, pressed together in that upscale Sina hotel room, Levi had asked of him but one selfish request.  “You know damn well I’m already way more than involved and why I’m not scared of dying.”

“Because,” Erwin allows himself a shuddering laugh, “anyone who swears their heart to the Legion isn’t allowed to fear death.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the same hand that’s sent so many soldiers to their graves that’s swathed in sudden warmth.

It’s the same hand that brought him from his makeshift nesting grounds of the Underground that’s guided over his Captain’s still-beating heart.

It’s the same hand that signed off his endorsement letter to request his charge be made Captain, the same hand that clutches to pens and blade handles when he fights against the system no differently than when he reaches out for a lover’s fleeting touch – the same hand that Levi refuses to release.

“No.  Because, five years ago, I made my choice.”  Levi won’t let go, he knows, no sooner than Erwin plans to.  “So if I’m not scared of dying, then you’d better not be, old man.”

It’s a choice, Erwin thinks with the spreading start of a smile reflected in Levi’s eyes, to which they’ve devoted themselves completely.

“I won’t.”  There’s a promise laced in those two words, in the shortening spaces between their fingers, an understanding neither need to voice.  “We both have plenty of years left ahead of us to live, after all.”

A promise they intend to keep.

 

* * *

 

The time between when Eren begins to stir at last and the trial – three days after their first visit – is not an empty void.

Erwin confides to Zoë and Mike about his plans, for one thing. 

It’s been a long time coming. 

He ensures they know of the full disclosure, even if they had guessed all along the reason for his absence around the base even on days without business. 

They were friends before they became his Squad Leaders, after all.

“If it’s information you need,” Zoë rolls up her sleeves from Erwin’s couch, faith unequivocal, “you can count on me!  All I need’s a night to do a write-up—”

“We have a week,” Mike corrects her from the floor, where he’s taken to doing push-ups while Nanaba uses his back as their chosen seat instead of the currently occupied sofa, “to get ready for the trial, though.”

“We’ll all be here to help.”  Nanaba, no less encouraging, plucks another manuscript unearthed from Levi’s Underground information hunts to attempt to translate some of the longer passages in archaic Old World languages.  “Whatever you need, however you need it, Mister Smith, you just tell us what you need by the date of the trial—”

“—and we’ll make sure you’re more than ready to give an official statement in Eren’s stead.”  Enthusiastic as Erwin now feels at the prospect, Zoë lifts her head toward the door of his office and the fastened bar propped on verge of the ceiling’s edge.  “How’s that sound to you, Little Levi?”

Erwin could have sworn Levi had been doing sit-ups on the ground before this.

“Who died,” grunts Levi, current state of suspension no less preventive for him to cast Zoë a withering look, “and made you Second-In-Command?”

“No one,” Zoë chirps, placing her research notes on the table as she rises from her cushioned roost.  “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“What do you think,” grouses Levi, contemptuous, “Shitty Four-Eyes?”

Erwin leaves his desk chair, then, to exchange files with Zoë right below where Levi’s attempting toe-touches.

“I, for one, am glad to have every one of you here.”  It’s authentic, but the underscore of _everyone_ that makes Mike stop counting, makes Nanaba stop gossiping, makes Zoë stop poking Levi and makes Levi stop poking Zoë.  “All of you have a role that’s irreplaceable, and not just in this endeavor.  We’ve got a long road ahead of us, but…”

“Wait.”  Nanaba hops with feline grace to their feet, sidling right up Erwin for a one-armed hug.  “Hold that thought.” 

“Why?”  Mike’s tendency to sneak up on unsuspecting parties, Erwin starts at the re-realization, hasn’t changed at all since they were trainees. 

“Because,” Nanaba replies, singsong, “this totally calls for another Group Cuddle Chain!”

“Fuck _no_ ,” Levi groans, taking the towel Mike offers him to wipe the sweat off his bare chest before resuming his pull-ups to the chuckles of an observing Mike and Zoë.  “Not again.”

“Why not?”  Nanaba nearly wails, slumping against Erwin’s chest.  “Well, fine by me.  It’ll be your loss when I get to snuggle with Mister Smith aaaaaaaaaall by myself—”

Even upside-down, Levi moves faster than anyone can blink – including Erwin, who drops the folder Zoë handed him outright when the Captain leans down enough to steal a kiss from him on his way back up.

“Go ahead,” Levi all but purrs before recommencing his exercises.  “Doubt you can beat that, though.”

After several stunned moments of silence, the sound of clapping fills the open window of his office.

“Wow,” Mike applauds.  “So— what was that about the long road ahead, Erwin?”

“Yeah,” Zoë rounds in on him too, no less inclined to behaviors uncommon to their age bracket, “what was that about being glad that all of us were here to motivate you?  Or did you just mean your cheeky little Captain Levi?”

“He’s definitely not little in the muscle department,” Nanaba remarks, their appreciative whistle not lost on any of the other older officers in the room.  “Good for you, Mister Smith.” 

(And – caught somewhere between the telltale twist of his mouth fashioned in the shape of a smile and the stray drops of perspiration gliding down the path of Levi’s abdomen – Erwin has no inclination to disagree with them.)

 

* * *

 

“You look lost.”

Even from here, Erwin can see the instant those aquamarine eyes blink unfocused at him past the iron bars. 

A contrived observation, one meant to gauge for a reaction rather than garner a response.

Eren Jaeger is nothing if not a marvelous example of the power of reactions.

“We might have answers to any questions you have,” Erwin says, slowly, leaning forward in the chair brought by the guards – one that Levi gives up to him with the rationale that an ‘old man’ like him could use it more.  “Is there anything you’d like to ask?”

If anything, this inquiry only seems to inspire even more questions.

“Where…am I?”

Levi shifts from his place leaning against the cell wall behind him but, as instructed, doesn’t move. 

“As you can probably tell, you’re in an underground jail cell.”  There’s a sequence, a building momentum in the atmosphere Erwin aims to build; he appreciates Levi’s presence as much as he does the younger one’s penchant for quick reactions, but first impressions are everything.  “And, for the time being, you’re in the Military Police’s custody.”

The boy’s gaze takes in his surroundings, then. 

Speculating. 

Solemnly accepting.

( _So if the key you stole before the Warden seized everything on him wasn’t for the cell, then what could it be?_

_Pass me that manuscript._

_This one?_

_No, not that one, dumbass.  The one with the sketch._

_The one with the—?  Oh, you mean this one?_

_Now read the fifth paragraph on the mangy old manuscript you’ve got in your right hand._

_…‘I’ve entrusted Him with a legacy: a secret, with any luck, never to reveal itself.  The handle fashioned in the Chosen Ones’ motif, a gold alloy constructed from metals mined from their Village that’s guaranteed to never rust, and a gemstone seared into its center, meant to react when He meets with the appropriate Coordinate.  But for the time being, the rest of the story shall remain locked in the basement of my Shinganshina home, a touchstone for Him to someday return to—‘_

_If that’s not an artist’s rendition of the key, the guy’s not too shabby at art._

_Maybe he should’ve changed professions when he had the chance._

_If only._ )

“We’ve only just received permission to speak with you now.”  They don’t have much time, either – ten minutes, at most, what with the two guards standing in precarious watch at either end of the cell.  “Which is why—”

( _…Levi._

_Yeah?_

_This is…_

_—I know._ )

“T-That key…“

“Indeed,” Erwin stifles a chuckle at the sheer perplexity, the immediate swipe at his bare collar for a chain that will not be there, that flits across the boy’s features, “this is yours.   But you’ll have it back later.” 

It’s verification enough to keep Eren staring at them.

“This is the key that unlocks the mystery of the Titans, something that’s been hidden in the basement to your home – or, I should say, Doctor Jaeger’s – in Shinganshina, isn’t it?”

The startled gasp he receives elicits no humor now.

“Yes, sir.”  Straightforward, peering from under the dark brown fringe of his hair, Eren is nothing less than childlike.   “I think so.  That’s what my father said it was for, anyway.”

Levi chooses then to pitch in his take on the matter.

“You ‘think’?” The Captain gives a disdainful snort.  “So you can’t remember and your dad can’t vouch for what you don’t remember when he’s MIA.  Awfully convenient, if you ask me.”

“Levi.”  Less harried by the setback than the interruption, Erwin scolds him.  “We already established he has no reason to lie.”

( _Thank you_ , is the message he sends in silent apology, a fondness that Levi reads from his gaze and nods.)

“—There’s still plenty more we’d like to ask, of course.”  Frankness, Erwin imagines, would be a trait anyone backed into a corner would appreciate – and he turns to Eren, as such, not wanting him to think the Commander ill-mannered.  “But for now, we’d like to hear what _you_ want to do from here.”

Tried and true methods have their commonplace uses.

“What…I want to do?”  Eren inhales, a greedy gulp from his open mouth, and exhales through his nose.

Erwin lets the dust settle before he continues.

“To get to that basement, we’ll have to reach Shinganshina by reclaiming Wall Maria.  The easiest and most logical way would be to seal up the shattered gate.”  The explanation, as he told it to his three closest confidants and Levi, would likely need even further elaboration to the just-awoken Eren.  “And to do that, we would need your Titan powers.”

“In fact,” Erwin goes on, “you might even say our fates rest in the hands of Titans.

He has Mike to thank for that analogy, but it’s Zoë who he needs to thank for what he remarks upon next.

“The Colossal Titan and the Armored Titan both, most likely, the same as you.”  The disappearance and reemergence of, their significant lack of animalistic movements unlike the other classed Titans – Zoë was a scientist through and through, what with how her meticulous interpretations provided them in applicable forms of knowledge.  “In principle, anyway.”

He displays the key once more, beyond the range of Eren’s hesitant grasp-and-reach motions.

“But that’s precisely why I leave the decision in your hands now.  In your hands, this key could be a weapon or the answer to what despairs Humanity – and in you.”

So many decisions in Erwin’s life had been determined by a single pinpoint moment of truth.

He suspects this one will be no different.

“…In me…”

“Hey,” Levi can’t sit still for any longer than he can remain silent, but the shift in tone should turn the tides in their favor.  He hopes.  “Give us some sign you’re alive in there, you shitty brat.  Either that or tell us what you want to do already.”

For Eren and for all those who’ve involved in this cause, this would be a decisive moment.

“I’ll…”

Bated, shallow breaths, a centralized eternity.

Eren looks up again, then, with a most savage look in those formerly ingenuous eyes.

A look of pure primordial desire.

“…I’ll join the Scouting Legion,” Eren’s mouth is a twisted circuit, unhinged about the changing landscape of his too-young face, “and slaughter the Titans.” 

His history, his lack of restraint to his expressions, his expected reactions — Erwin accounted for all these things before he came here.

What he couldn’t predict, what he could never predict, was Levi’s reaction to such a declaration.

“…That’s some answer.”  The tap of Levi kicking off from the stone wall surface alerts Erwin to another change in the atmosphere.  “Not bad, kid.  Not bad.” 

Levi slips past him to walk over to the barred door of Eren’s cell.

Erwin doesn’t try to stop him.

That glow of purpose in Levi’s eyes, elegant flare to a delicate spark, is something worth waiting to see in action.

“—Erwin.  I’ll take responsibility for this kid.”  Just as he’s begun to recover from this, Levi adds, “I’ll let the higher-ups know myself.”

Levi, he thinks, is always worth waiting to watch in action.

“Don’t think this means I’m putting all my faith in you or anything like that.”  He doesn’t, but from the startled gulp that Eren reacts with, Erwin wonders if the boy entertained the thought himself.  “If you start acting up or lose control, I’ll kill you.  On the spot.”

No doubt Levi could, Erwin muses, if he so chose.

“Thankfully, I’m sure the brass in their cushy seats upstairs’ll be fine with that.  They might not want to get their hands dirty, though I’m not afraid of a little bit of Titan brat blood getting on me.”

But they aren’t finished here. 

Neither is Levi, based on his unchanging posture.

“So,” there’s a hint of something like amusement to Levi’s voice, but Erwin can’t quite tell with his back turned to him, “permission granted.  You can join the Scouting Legion.”

“Permission granted on my part as well.”  Slow to stand but sharp in picking up the slack, Erwin waits for Levi to rejoin him at the start of the staircase leading back to the surface. 

“…Thank you, Captain Levi, Commander Erwin!”  As surprised as Erwin is that Eren knew their names, he’s far more relieved by how much Eren has relaxed again.  “I promise I won’t let you down!”

“—On one condition.”

A deal is a deal only when all conditions agreed upon are met, however.

“What…kind of condition?”

There is a familiar adage that accompanies the principles of equivalent exchange.

“You’ll find out, three days from now.”

Cruel as it might be to withhold information from him, Erwin knows it’s for the best.

“When, though?  I mean…where can I find you if I’m chained down here…?”

For Eren’s sake, they’ll need to be firmer, bolder, wiser than this.

“You’ll find out, three days from now—”

If all goes well, the proof will reveal itself in due time.

“—in the courthouse.”

 

* * *

 

(Anything that seeks to threaten the safety of Humankind – be it primordial desires like base revenge or inhuman creations like the Titans – was the Legion’s highest priority, after all.)


	43. lost and at fault (the light and the dark)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an update at long last.  
> HAPPY MERRY HOLIDAYS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT. 
> 
> (And to those of you who are aware of what manga/characters/scene is being referenced in this chapter.................you're welcome andI'msorry)

_The Adventures of Sinbad._

It’s the only book Erwin took with him from home.

When he was young, it was the only book he ever read fully in one sitting.

Twice.

The only chapter book he ever enjoyed reading (his tutor’s required applied physics and classic literature texts didn’t count), too.

"I’ve read it before."  Levi surprises him still, the repository of knowledge and procured cultural tomes from his many closet-bound boxes no less startling to open and unearth on a whim to check for another copy of this folklore-esque fantasy.  "It’s in there… somewhere."

"I’m sure it is," Erwin stretches from the entanglement of coverlets & Levi’s arms to reach for his copy on the bedstand, "somewhere."

"This thing’s older than dirt."  It was a mild accusation, even for a loose-tongued and lethargic Levi.  "Your old-old man let you take it?"

"My old-old man had no idea," the sheer volume of the book, unlike as Erwin remembered it, was lighter now, "I left for the army with it."

He was hardly a sneaky child, no innate sense of deception or natural malice to be found.  

But even as a teenager, he valued propriety over necessity.  His grandfather, if at all, wouldn’t notice one book missing from such a considerable collection.

Then again, if he were to use any excuse at all, he would have to think quicker than he had at thirteen.

Quicker than Sinbad could at thirteen.

"Second-to-none at withholding information," notes Levi, nudging him to move from the table of contents faster, "even when you were a brat."

"Hardly," Erwin rejoins, reclining with a lounging Levi now tucked under his arm and the other brushing dust from the worn pages.

"—I still remember certain points in the story.  Some better than others."  As Erwin thumbs through the chapters, memories resurface.  "The scene where he first finds Yunan.  All his interactions with Drakon.  Clearing the first dungeon and safely reemerging."

"Wasn’t that pretty much," Levi yawns, taking to Erwin’s lap while his pillow gets used as a footrest, "the first five chapters?"

"My favorite scene of all happens around chapter sixteen, though."  Erwin smiles, his page-flipping ceasing just as Levi picks his head up.  "The part where Sinbad meets Ja’far."

"You mean when Ja’far comes out of hiding with his troupe of assassins," it was quite a major detail, the first climatic moment of the story, "to kill him."

"And yet," a flick of his wrist, purposeful, as they speed through the dialogue to follow – _if you choose_ and _guaranteed safety_ , _a better life here than there_ based in the wanting whisper of _will you trust me?_  “in the end, Ja’far allowed him to live.”

"He didn’t have to."  Far from prime literary criticism, it was still a legitimate observation.

"Do you think it was the wrong choice?"  Chapters upon chapters afterward describe how Sinbad and Ja’far – reluctant companions at best and eventual partners despite their initial circumstances – travel to distant lands full of elaborate secrets, unraveling the mysteries behind the strange Dungeons & Magi who seemed to know a little too much of the world around them.  "Considering what they both gained in return."

Chin propped on his thigh, Erwin’s idle petting of the younger man’s hair stopped the instant those eyes turned quiet on him.

"Maybe in the beginning," Levi remarks, pensive, as if he were Ja’far thinking on what could have been if he continued life as it had been before accompanying Sinbad on his cross-kingdom journey.  "But at least Sinbad didn’t turn out to be a shitty king."

His choices haven’t always been sure and steady, however.

Just like Sinbad.

The pursuit of his quest for knowledge, the impulsive invitations made along the way to the land of refugees that would, someday, become the great kingdom of Sindria – all of these things led to the camaraderie and culminating encounters of Sinbad’s seven generals, hailing from each of the oceans he sailed across.

It only got Sinbad so far, Erwin realized now that he was older and able to reflect back on the story at large, and near fallen to Depravity.

But when the time for their chance meeting with a curious little Magi named Aladdin and his two companions brought more help than harm, perhaps Sinbad too began to realize how fortunate he was to have been chosen by those with great powers and even greater responsibility.

But when trouble began to stir – political and magical – within the continents and hidden hollows of the desperate, the greedy, and the confines of a world torn asunder, perhaps what King Sinbad realized was that he needed more than just a friend turned royal attendant to rein him back in from his lapses of self and foolhardy ambitions wrought by good intention and brought to life by childlike belief.

And when the final battle arrived – when Sinbad had the chance to get vengeance on the one who inadvertently had a hand in his father’s fall from grace and his parents’ eventual deaths – perhaps it was no accident that Ja’far had been the one to remind him of what dangers revenge held for those vessel-users with vast amounts of magoi running through their blood.

It may have been no accident at all, Erwin thinks, to have discovered through the eyes of a changed boy grown into a wiser man just how much power to change the lives of others was vested within him all along.

"When I was younger," Erwin speaks aloud, more to himself than to Levi, "I always wondered if there really were people like Ja’far in this world.  Brave enough to fight without fear of losing the wings on their backs.  Brave enough to admit to their mistakes."

(He still wonders, at times, whether such a person deserved to stand beside such a selfish king.)

It’s odd, how simple proximity reminds Erwin of how fortunate **he** is, privy to the attention of someone solitary by learned response.

“‘How cruel of you,’” Levi says, and even when the tilt of his crooked smile doesn’t register for Erwin at first, his next words do “to lead the people on as you lead on young ladies – and gentlemen – to the tune you play.’”

This scene, as Erwin recalls it, had always been among his favorites.

"I speak for my people, Ja’far.’" Unconsciously, Erwin finds he’s slipping into tones, no scripts around but the one committed to memory. “‘If not for me, then I think it a necessary sacrifice for my people.’"

_There is a pause, a silence, which pervades between the two men of inherited roles standing along the open corridor leading to the main hall then._

“‘Even after all these years,’” Erwin can visualize it from this recitation alone, clear as the illustration laid open in the book, the jarring shadows and stunted winds that run through the prescribed _fair-weathered springtime eve,_ “‘do you think me devious, Ja’far?’”

Not once that night – not while they scanned through document after document in preparation for tomorrow’s trial, not while the suggestion of ‘tension-relieving exercises’ somehow led them from Erwin’s office to the bedroom – does he find the same sense of reassurance as the kind Ja’far surprised Sinbad in that moment, just as Levi’s head suddenly bowed in conjunction with a reply he knows by heart. 

“‘I wouldn’t call you ‘devious’ or ‘righteous.’”  There’s a ghost of a smile that persists on both their faces, now.  “‘But no matter the choices you make, I’ll follow you wherever you may go, Sin.’”

His hands waver, then, a freeform touch to the base of Levi’s throat.

“‘To the end of wherever tomorrow’s trials may lead us and to the very end?’”

( _His mouth is not sharp, no less than his tongue, but his hands that cover his folded, the smile hidden behind his sleeve, is_ —

Like the swell of Levi’s mouth on his.

 _Anywhere,_ the venturing trace of fingertips over his heart assures, _My King._ )


	44. life goes on (it gets so heavy)

“So,” Mike marches after Zoë despite her already reaching two flights below.  “Just to be sure.”

Erwin stops short at the cellar entryway.

“What do you need to be sure of?”

“The plan,” his sniff echoes down the passage leading down to Eren’s holding cell, “is basically not to tell the kid anything, right?”

The heavy silence that follows halts Zoë’s descent down the next set of stairs.

“If it were possible,” Erwin admits, “I wouldn’t keep him in the dark like this.”

“But you don’t trust him.”  Having known Mike as long as he has, Erwin knows these words are far from an anomaly.  Nor are they unwelcome.  “Not like you trust us.”

Erwin doesn’t even notice Zoë rejoining them until she steps around Mike to approach him.

He recoils – not out of surprise but how she proceeds.

“Are you that worried,” she sighs, not disapproving but seeking confirmation from the Commander, “Eren won’t react to the plan like our predictions?” 

Ever the scientist, an active pursuer of knowledge.

“Somewhat,” he admits.  “We have a good idea of how Eren will react under pressure, based on the reports from the Garrison on how he behaved on the battlefield in Trost.” 

They had observation notes, too, along with Nanaba’s talent for reading into physiological behavior.   Whether or not it would it be enough, Erwin knew, had little to do with luck or research.

Or preparation, for that matter, to put up a proper fight for custody of Eren.

“But those predictions,” Erwin continues, “are based on specific criteria, Zoë.  Very distinct circumstances as well.  So while I trust your predictions—”

“We accounted for practically every variable we could think of!”  Her exclamation spurs the start of a frown though he hadn’t meant it reproachful.  “So all we need to do is focus on the plan and—”

“Variables are called as much,” rare as it is for Zoë to question his decisions, it’s rarer still for her to challenge a plan so practiced and an argument so persuasive, “for a reason, Zoë.”

They thought this plan up together. 

 _Zoë_ was the first to suggest each of them taking on unique roles in the process. 

And – no matter what Erwin feels about the likelihood of this turning out well – Commander Smith cannot afford anything less than assuredness once he’s arrived in the courthouse.

“Hey,” Zoë falters, looking to Mike, and their nods are almost synchronized.  “If you don’t wanna count on variables or predictions, then…count on us, at least?”

“I do,” Erwin says, counteracting his desolate tone with a firmer addendum.  “You know I do, Zoë.”

“I know you do.”  _Zoë_ , he recalls, who first saw him through the huddle of five trainee girls gathered around the lakeside goading on two more girls shoving the brunette (wiry back then, uniform entrenched in wet soil and twigs and muddy water, an ire to her eyes every time she fought to resurface sent straight at her tormenters that Erwin would never forget) into the water again and again until how Mike posed in the shadows with a fantastic imitation of their tyrannical 3DMG Instructor and sent all the girls scurrying back to the barracks – except for Zoë, whose quivering frame was enfolded by Erwin’s jacket and whose grateful smile was as soft then as the fondness to her expression now.  “That’s why we’re still here.”

“That’s goes double for both of us.”  _Mike._  He recalls their first meeting, too, how the gangly tower of a boy took a seat next to him in the mess hall on their first week on the base, the first trainee to comment not on Erwin’s upbringing or the prestige of his family legacy but on how he didn’t smell like the other guys and the last person Erwin would say goodnight to from that day forward after he earned Mike’s respect by being the first to know how to pronounce his name correctly.  “All four of us, actually.”

“Hold on, Mike.”  Erwin chuckles.  “Aren’t you forgetting about someone…someone very important who would be loath to be forgotten?”

“Point taken.”  Mike concedes, almost sheepish.  “Well.  Since Nanaba’s staying back at the base to keep an eye on the scouts or not, I’ll say it for them: _it’s gotta be all five of us or nothing, Mister Smith!_ ”

They all have a good-natured round of laughter over Mike’s impersonation of the second-youngest until, hands raised, the tallest of their current party looks from Zoë to Erwin. 

“All or nothing?”  As they recall from their earliest days in the Legion, Mike was the first to start this pre-expedition tradition.

“All or nothing.”  Zoë claps her respective hands to Mike’s palms, both turning to Erwin.

Waiting for Erwin to join them.

(Any overhanging doubts at once disperse through the clap-and-clasp motion.

The odd start of a smile is no less unfamiliar as the bark of laughter that sounds out loud and clear past his lips.

Like when he was young.)

“All but nothing,” Erwin affirms, conveys to both with a smile as his hands join over hers and Mike’s in turn before his Squad Leaders head downstairs to Eren’s holding cell wordlessly while their Commander turns to head back to the surface, “and nothing less.”

* * *

_It’s just a rumor, right?_

_’Course it is._

_There’s no way a Titan could actually be willing to work with humans._

_He’ll turn against us for sure!_

_Oh, good fallen Wall of Maria, what if he_ _does_ _—?_

_Wait, think about it!  This might be Humanity’s Savior in Titan’s disguise!  A savior in Titan’s clothing, sent down from above to help us reclaim Wall Maria—_

_Not a chance._

_You think so?_

_I know so._

_They wouldn’t waste our hard-earned tax money on a venture that dangerous, too._

_True._

_We’ve got a better change of them using our taxes to send troops out on a rescue operation to Wall Rose, really, to bring back those refugees from Wall Rose._

_No doubt, that’ll mean those refugees will end up **here** , in our Sina Capital District—_

_Our Sina Capital, which has been a safe haven from Titans, Absolvent or Shape-Shifter or what have you, for over a hundred—_

* * *

“If that’s the worst of their problems,” Pixis snorts, once they’ve climbed the ladders and steps leading to the highest fortified floor of the Garrison, far out of earshot from the chattering noblemen they slipped past on their way here, “I pity them.”

Erwin, silently, agreed.

When Major Pixis found him as he rounded the last corner to the courtroom, Erwin agreed to join him for _a quick stroll before our courtroom appearance_ as well. 

He had no desire to arrive almost an hour prior to the hearing.

Even less desire, in fact, to be left alone with his thoughts.

Not while he had enough on his mind beside the trial, not while already anxious about Levi’s current location: scouring the streets of the Underground, meeting with a few ‘brothers’ he kept in contact with to keep their ears and eyes open for the name Jaeger.

They were the Legion’s unlikely insurance, he resolved as he counted the minutes ticking by until Levi would rejoin him in the courthouse, to ensure their options remained open.

“Major,” Erwin says at length, over the rush of midday’s inclement airstream, “are you sure it’s alright for us to be at a place like this?  Unless there’s some…special occasion I wasn’t aware of—“

Pixis practically bellows.

“Now, now.  No need to be so formal, Commander.”  Eccentric, indeed, describes the older man whose sprightly steps down the length of the Garrison leave Erwin struggling to catch up.  “As far as anyone looking at us can tell, I just happened to be on my usual morning walk along the perimeter of the Wall.  And soldiers just happen to join their superior officer for patrolling and debriefings all the time.”

It was true.

They both knew it.  Few would see anything but two uniformed men walking along the Wall, let alone discern the crest of the Legion on his sleeve, from the ground below.

“I take it you already know,” says Pixis at the exact moment Erwin conjures the best way to ask about the Major’s sudden disappearance from the precinct last week, “why the Military Police wants custody of Eren Jaeger?”

He does.

“Yes, I received word via telegram yesterday.”  Then, a beat later, he asserts, “It makes a military court hearing like this seem more a formality than anything.”

Pixis hums, noncommittal agreement, and his steps slow.

“Zacklay is overseeing the hearing, I understand.  Meaning the final verdict – whether the Scouting Legion or the Military Police will receive custody over Jaeger – depends on him.”

It’s the former that surprises Erwin more than the latter, though.

“Zacklay?  Generalissimo Darius Zacklay?”

“The Military Police, Scouting Legion, and The Garrison are all under that man’s thumb.”  Erwin knew as much, but Pixis does nothing to assuage his raw reaction.  “His decisions are based on one thing and one thing only: whether it’s to Humanity’s benefit or Humanity’s detriment.”

Handpicked to oversee military court hearings and all related legislation, Zacklay was a mediator. 

The military’s “Commander-in-Chief.”

Those from every division answered to his beck and call during his monthly court appearances; cadets and Commanders alike knew to answer to him, given his connection to the Consulate.

Status and its prestige should be a familiar thing for Erwin, as familiar as coming home.

He knows just as well that the Consulate honors longevity over loquaciousness, seniority over skill. 

The Generalissimo has the ability to turn heads at the mention of his name but Erwin thinks him no less superior than he does a puppet. 

A vassal of their careful court clauses and clandestine causes. 

A lesser being unworthy of their acknowledgement.

When the crowned crows and vituperative vultures tire of the sight of him, Erwin knows the Consulate will peck his eyes out to spite his face. 

When they tire of him, they’ll consume his legacy from the inside out.

“If he thinks Eren is a threat, he’ll have the boy executed.”  Pixis’s foresight had yet to fail either of them, but Erwin finds wariness a difficult thing to shake.  “Right on the spot.”

Cynical as it is, Erwin knows how likely that outcome is.

“But,” Pixis’s back faces him as he speaks, “I don’t intend to let Eren be executed.”

His eyes widen at the declaration and, eyebrows raised, he watches as Pixis extracts a hip flask hanging from his belt.

”Unfortunately, too many of my soldiers would prefer it that way.  The easy way out, so to speak.  All I can do is refuse to cast my lot with the Military Police.”

He expects no further elaboration while Pixis takes several swigs of his drink – but there’s more to his intentions to be voiced.

“Do you have a plan,” Pixis lowers his flask long enough to ask, “to get them to listen?”

“Not exactly.”  With how honest Pixis was today, Erwin saw no reason not to let his intentions be known.  “But I do have a proposal in mind.  Whether it works will depends on how well the interrogation goes.”

“In other words,” the Major turns to him, pausing in mid-swig for a guttural sound of amusement, “a trial by fire?”

Erwin almost smiles at the term, a familiar one for Commanders like themselves.

“The Scouting Legion’s namesake comes from venturing into the unknown.  If a trial by fire trumps its Commander so easily…then I don’t deserve this rank any sooner than I deserve to gain custody of Eren.”

Pixis doesn’t hold back his laughter any longer.

“Looks can truly be deceiving.”  Flask back to its proper holding place, turning on his heel to make for the stairwell leading back to ground zero, Pixis waves in motion faster than Erwin can keep up.

“It’s been a pleasure walking and talking with you,” Pixis tells him from far from earshot, “Commander Smith.”

The answers Erwin seeks won’t be addressed on the Walls, he realizes then – if Pixis has them at all, if Pixis intends to withhold them until after the trial as he suspects.

But the pocketwatch resting in his inner pocket against the Legion’s Wings reminds him of what he does have to hold, what is his alone to make use of: opportunity. 

Second chances.

People he trusts, people he’s chosen to trust.

(Time, too, even if time is not always on their side.)


	45. we used to be closer than this

Unlike the Coronation Banquet debacle nearly a year ago, Nile sees him first.

Sobriety aside, there are other differences. 

The setting. 

The context. 

The events which led up to and follow Erwin turning one corner after another down the courthouse corridors only to run right into Nile on his way to meet with Levi at their prearranged rendezvous point.

A rendezvous point which he and Nile now stood face-to-face before.

“Nile.”  In place like this, civility is necessary.  “Long time no see.”

He notices the stiffness to Nile’s shoulders, the manifest calm set into his jaw, as soon as the Chief approaches him.

The issue that plagues them remains withheld.

Words are dull blades, but a mindful matter never called to attention can’t be used against him.

“Erwin.”  Formalities exchanged, they have no more need for gallantry than they do the ruse of rivalry.  “You look pretty well rested for someone about to sit in on a court hearing with the Generalissimo.”

“And you look rather anxious,” he returns just as swiftly, “for someone who sits in on any number of these court hearings on a regular basis.”

By the time Erwin notices how many seconds of silence passed, the charade and its columns at last collapse.

“Today’s a hell of a lot more than just another court hearing,” Nile grinds out, suddenly taking several steps toward Erwin despite (or perhaps because of) the lack of milling passerby soldiers through the hallway.  “Something tells me Zacklay isn’t the only one we should be worried about, either.”

It’s not a chill which runs through Erwin at the implication but the harrowing sense of hindsight that runs warm through his veins.

(If he knows, Erwin realizes, _if_ he knows. 

He can’t just assume as much, can’t trust anyone outside his closest circle any more than he can trust Nile.

Not when the man’s already betrayed his trust, once.) 

“I spoke with the Major a little while ago on my way past the Garrison.”  This, however, is not divulgence out of desperation.  “As I’ve been told, the prosecution intends to take no prisoners...though that doesn’t surprise me.  It’s all or nothing for you as always, I presume?”

_You gave me your word.  You promised._

It’s preemptive calculation. 

_I won’t deny it.  I said what you thought I said, back then._

An open palm outstretched, the bait not attached to a trap but to an opportunity to switch sides. 

_You told me we’d enlist together._

“Are you asking,” Nile’s grin is almost a grimace, “or telling me how to do my job?”  

_You never told me enlisting together meant signing up for the Death Corps together._

“Far from it,” Erwin’s eyes fall shut, noiseless acceptance, “I wanted to hear the truth from you.  Consider it a favor granted to an old friend.”

_Not all ‘trial’ expeditions like the one we went on with the other candidates doesn’t mean all expeditions end in—_

“Something tells me,” Nile moves forward, leaving his to react on instinct and move away – until, caged between the wall and the Chief’s inflexible stare, Erwin discovers too late his gravest mistake, “you aren’t asking for information fit for public disclosure.”

_Don’t give me that bullshit about ‘facing death head-on as soldiers,’ Erwin, when you damn well know the risks—_

“Unfit for public disclosure,” Erwin does ask, this time, “or sworn under oath not to be disclosed to anyone?”

_What happened was a mistake, Nile.  An accident._

“Both,” Nile tells him, gaze unmoving.

_Is that what the higher-ups are calling what happened to sixteen scouts and four trainees when a couple of rouge Abnormals got to them?  An accident?  And these are the self-persevering bastards we’re supposed to want to join up with?_

“Under whose orders?”  From what Pixis revealed, from the growing discontent of the citizens in the Sina districts, Erwin thinks he knows, and his voice rises with the temperature of his blood.  “Whoever they are, they can’t keep hidden forever.  They can’t protect **you** , either.”

_The Legion never promised to protect us from the possibility of death, Nile, and neither will the Military Police._

What registers with Erwin first isn’t the way he crashes backward, shoved to the wall the moment he lets his guard down.

The clutch at his collar, released into palms laid flat against his chest when Nile sees Erwin’s hands hanging at his sides.

The twisted snarl of Nile’s upper lip, dwindling only to be replaced by regret barely visible behind the residuals of resentment.

The cold understanding that settles within along with the rising recognition.

They’re no longer tussling trainees, no longer friends who fight for equal ground to stand on, but they’re no longer able to ignore the past as it was.

Not when the very same scenario, the very same words spoken as back then, presents itself all over again. 

“I’m not trying to protect myself.”  Nile’s whisper is almost grudgingly guilty, and, pressed close as they are to one another, it’s—

It’s strange.  

“It’s not me,” when Nile repeats himself, in another way, it feels even stranger, “who needs protection here.”

Erwin’s always considered Nile a friend.

There’s always been a strange sort of care between them, as bunkmates were naught to feel out of habit.

The nighttime and daytime check-ins.

The begrudging good-nights after wandering the grounds until late into the early morning.

The marketplace outings and slipping out to the lakeside for swimming races with Mike and Nile both as active participants in the original scheme. 

Until their last barrack brawl, their worst fistfight of all three years they spent in training – one of the only times Erwin’s ever lost his temper to such a degree and one of the only times Mike’s ever had to voice a request of this caliber to the comrade he would someday call Commander: _calm down_ – Erwin always considered Nile someone worth protecting.

Even longer than after their last fistfight the night before graduation, long after they parted ways with Nile intent on fighting to survive within the Wall and Erwin outside of them.

Even longer than that time, Erwin’s thought that way.

If he had chosen another lot during the drawing, if he had gotten assigned to the same squad of senior scouts and trainees in that trial expedition instead of a different one from Nile’s, Erwin wonders if he could have changed the timing of their final fallout. 

If he had been present when four of their trainee friends were ripped limb from limb by those Abnormals and not separated and searching with Mike for a squad they lost sight of in the pouring rain and if Nile, shielded from sight by the thick of forest foliage, had been able to do more than watch it happen, Erwin wonders if things would have turned out different.

If he had been there, if he could have been there, Erwin would have protected him. 

(He would have leapt down into the fray, taken the blades heavier than any practice swords they’ve ever dealt with during drills and maneuvered down the tree trunks using his gear and hacked a clean incision right through those Abnormals’ necks, gladly, if it meant there were any possible chance of changing Nile’s mind—)

Only after he’s done glancing left and right, finding the hallway they stood pressed close together in as desolate as it had been from the start, does Nile find the ability to speak again.

“You,” all their drawn-out disagreements, all the strange tension in his shoulders seems to transfer itself to Nile’s unsteady exhale, “better do everything in your power to keep yourself alive.  I can’t keep protecting you from the Consulate forever, Erwin.”

_Don’t let it be your head they come after next._

“Then we’ll both just have to put our all into this trial.”  Though there’s no reason for it when Nile pulls away from him at last, Erwin does manage a wan but grateful smile.  “And prove to the Consulate we won’t go down without a fight, won’t we?”

_Thank you, Nile._

“You, go down without a fight?  I’d bet at least a hundred Gild we’d sooner see the Colossal Titan’s skinless face again sooner than you’d go down easy.”

_Don’t mention it._

“While I’m not the superstitious type,” Erwin finds renewed camaraderie, hesitant as it is, in the small exchange of laughter they both partake in here, “I’d rather not focus on either of those possibilities.” 

Nile’s vague snort of amusement, a welcome sound, was yet another thing Erwin hadn’t realized he missed. 

“Why’s that?”

“Well, for one thing, self-fulfilling prophecies can be a dangerous thing—”

Erwin means it as a joke, but there’s an oddly flustered look that sets into his countenance as he turns to their immediate left. 

“Nile?”

“How long,” coughs Nile, nowhere near chaotic but not quite composed either, “have you been listening in on us?”

Reluctance relaxes into relief as Erwin follows the increasingly alarmed line of Nile’s eyes.

“Ah, Levi.” Erwin finds he’s more thankful that Nile’s completely stepped away from the vicinity now, making room for the one Erwin’s been waiting to see.  “Back with good news to report, I hope?”

He isn’t surprised in the least by how Levi slips right back over to his side.

Or how Levi practically tosses his suit jacket set – old and faded thing as it was, the outfit helped him blend in that much easier within the confines of the Underground – into Erwin’s arms.

He is surprised, however, at the proximity by which his Captain stands by him and the arm that wraps around him, a possessive curl of his fist to the belts attached at his waist that pulls him from behind ever so slightly in Levi’s direction.

A gesture that Nile, from the obvious disgust that flickers over his face then, hadn’t missed.

A gesture which, despite his disinclination expressed to Levi about keeping their relationship strictly behind closed doors, elicits an inexplicable sense of something like pride, already able to guess the reason for this sudden and open display of protectiveness.

“Something like that,” Levi says, and then proceeds to outright yank Erwin by said uniform belts to have the Commander walk with him – leaving Erwin, at length, to stop struggling and let himself be led while the shorter man declares, matter-of-fact, to Nile.  “So we’ve got debriefing to do before the hearing.  I’m sure you’re a busy man, Chief Dawk, so if you’ll excuse us—”

“Meet you in the courthouse in twenty,” Nile doesn’t look annoyed any longer, Erwin glances over his shoulder, but _amused_ , “Captain Shortstop.”

(And if that snide remark garners anything more than a rude wave of Levi’s middle finger in Nile’s direction, Erwin chooses not to take notice in favor of keeping up with Levi’s steady trot down the corridor leading to the courthouse.)


	46. it’s okay (to be afraid)

Military personnel are everywhere. 

The Military Police as prosecution. 

The Scouting Legion as defense. 

Generalissimo Zacklay as the overseeing judge.

From the walls to the windows, in fact, military personnel are posted everywhere in this courtroom.

The only ones who aren’t dressed in uniform are either family members of these soldiers of rank and related officials permitted to stand as insurrectionists – all of them with every intention of pushing Eren off to Military Police custody. 

The small jury of nonpartisan soldiers poised in the leftmost corner is made up of military men and women as well. 

The claims they too will participate, however, doesn’t fool someone like Erwin. 

He’s attended more than his fair share of court tribunals, knows by now they’re just to keep up appearances, as institutions working under government rule are naught to do.

As the Legion will strive to do in retaliation.

He catches the gaze of a solemn Zoë, staring down her balcony vantage point, for Mike’s unmistakable figure, both scanning the lower stands to watch for mutineers or other signs of danger.

They’re exactly where they said they would be, exactly as they promised to be: on stand-by, silent, awaiting the signals they discussed beforehand to show.

Levi, in place at his side, knows just as well what to do when the time comes.

It’s when Eren Jaeger emerges into view, pushed to the center stage of the courtroom floor to kneel and remain handcuffed to a metal pole throughout _the testimonials and interrogation about to commence_ – that’s when Erwin knows the time is drawing near.

* * *

Zacklay places down his on the high-placed wooden table, rimless spectacles on, a flask of water laid beside him and papers in front of him.

“Well, let us begin.

(Their time to seize an irretrievable opportunity and attack head-on has at last arrived.)

* * *

“You are Eren Jaeger?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are also a soldier of the state, sworn to sacrifice your life for the public good?”

Eren’s face is one of blank surprise, though his answer comes quicker this time.

“Yes, sir.”

Zacklay’s thoughtful hum, in the midst of absolute silence, is nothing if not considerate.

“These are…extenuating circumstances, indeed.”  The Generalissimo starts to read from the papers laid out before him.  “This tribunal will be held under military, not civilian, law.  That said, the final decision rests entirely in my hands.”

“Your fate,” he goes on to say, “will be decided here.

Armin and Mikasa peer down at the stage platform, several rows below where Erwin and Levi stand.

From his vantage point, Armin appears more frightful and cornered animal than Eren as the center of attention. 

Mikasa, by contrast, is nothing if not solid sure sternness, brows pinched together in determination. 

When she turns ever so slight to address the young Garrison Squad Leader at her left, Erwin notices a visible, healing cut under her right eye that he hadn’t noticed the day they spoke at the Precinct.

“Do you have any objections?”  Zacklay’s question retrieves Erwin’s attention – as well as the dazed-looking Eren.

The boy’s gaze, briefly, lifts from the ground to the overseeing judge.

“No, sir.”

The confirmation alone, however, is enough for Zacklay.

“Your cooperation is appreciated.”

Once his documents, reshuffled, are placed back down on the podium, the judge continues.

“I’ll cut right to the chase.  As you might expect, concealing your existence from civilian knowledge has proven a near impossible task.” 

“We’ll have to make a public announcement of some form after today’s trial.”  Though the courthouse remains deathly quiet, there are a few scattered nods of approval to this motion.  “Otherwise, we’ll have a much greater threat than the Titans to contend with.”

“What needs to be decided today is which division will have custody of you— The Military Police or the Scouting Legion.”

“To start,” Zacklay shifts in his seat to face the aforementioned division, “I’ll ask the Military Police for their proposal.”

Erwin, immediately, refocuses his attention to find Nile had just stepped into place at the front row, two officers flanked at his left and several unfamiliar – and oddly dressed – men at his right.

From the way Nile shirks away from them, though, Erwin doubts they’re individuals who are within the Military Police’s company.

“Yes, sir.  As Chief of the Military Police, I, Nile Dawk, will present our proposal.”

Like Zacklay, Nile has several sheets of paper held tight in his hands.

Unlike Zacklay, he does not refer to them throughout.

“We’ve performed a thorough investigation of all records and possessions on Eren’s persons over the last week.”  A week, the Commander notes with a rueful sort of inward twinge, of much deliberation for his division as much as Nile’s.  “Our investigation has led us to a final decision.

“We’ve decided,” Nile announces, “to eliminate him immediately.”

Aside from the visible clench of Mikasa’s jaw and Armin’s discreet touch to her elbow, not one person in the courthouse moves in reaction to Nile’s proposal.

“His Titan power may have indeed aided us in keeping us from greater perils in what occurred seven days ago.”  It’s a concession that does little to promote sympathy from a crowd that’s already chosen their stance on the matter.  “However, his existence now stokes the wars to an impending civil war.”

“For this reason, we propose that for the sake of a long-term counterattack, he will permit us to gain any amount of information that we can from his body…a sacrifice which we believe will benefit Humanity as a whole.”

The quiet that follows, then, is far tenser than Erwin expects.

“And what purpose,” a new voice raises its objections – surprisingly – from the prosecution stands, “would that serve for Humanity?”

To this clamorous opposition, even Zacklay’s eyebrows lift ever so slightly on the impassive senior Chief’s face. 

“Shit,” Levi steps closer to Erwin to tug at his sleeve with a frantic whisper, “it’s _him_.”

Erwin blinks away his initial surprise and stares at the man in question.

“Him?”

“That’s the Wall-crazy bastard,” Levi remembers details far better than Erwin ever could, “who kept going on and on about the Church Of Saint Sina at the banquet.”

He remembers, then, why the face of this preacher struck him as familiar.

“Indeed it is.  Though I suppose it’s virtually impossible,” Erwin quips, hiding a vague smile behind his palm as he leans down to acknowledge Levi, “to mistake Pastor Nick with anyone else, not while he’s the proud owner of such a prominent forehead.”

Beside him, Erwin thinks he hears Levi snort something like _we’ll call him Pastor Baldy_ under his breath.

And then, swift as their lapse into recollection descended, they return to their roles as attentive spectators.

“A deceptive creature like that has no right to stand among these Walls which embody God’s wisdom!”  Pastor Nick goes on to jeer at the bewildered Eren, who looks as dismayed as Erwin feels about being degraded to less than human.  “We should kill it immediately!”

“Pastor Nick,” Zacklay weighs in, at length, and takes on an authoritative tone, “please do not disturb the order of the court.”

Tactful as the rebuttal is, Pastor Nick sinks back down behind his side of the stands at once. 

“Next,” Zacklay turns to face the other direction, “the Scouting Legion will give their proposal.”

Well accustomed to the split-second switch from one persona to another, Commander Erwin Smith takes to the aisle nearest to his front-row stand.

“Yes, sir.”  Straightened shoulders, Erwin presents the Generalissimo with a brief soldier’s salute.  “As the thirteenth Commander of the Scouting Legion, I, Erwin Smith, will now give my proposal.”

Like the courthouse occupants were when Nile gave his proposal, the watchful eyes of soldiers and officers alike are a collective motion. 

More likely than not they were expecting, after the Military Police’s statement of intent, a proposal that will pale in comparison – and so they anticipate the Commander’s proposal in Eren’s defense.

“We of the Scouting Legion would like to welcome Eren as an official member of our forces and use his power to reclaim Wall Maria.”

“—That is all.”

Stunned silence sweeps through the entire court.

“Hmm?”  Perplexed, Zacklay attempts to elucidate Erwin’s words.  “Is that your entire proposal?”

Erwin pauses, to the thrown murmurs of the soldiers and related individuals in the spectator stands, before he declares, loud and clear:

“Yes, sir.”

Thanks to the wonders of peripheral vision, Erwin can see Zoë from the balcony waving her arms in frantic half-circles. 

As Mike isn’t attempting to curb her enthusiasm, he assumes that to mean there’s nothing to worry about. 

Yet.

“As mentioned, we intend to use his power to retake Wall Maria.”  More out of consideration to the hushed inquiries around him than anything, Erwin doesn’t speak until he’s earned an earful of relative silence.  “As such, our priorities remain as clear and succinct as that.” 

Zacklay displays neither signs of disapproval or approval over this.

“…I see.”  The trial-regulated bureaucrat is difficult to read, but Erwin suspects a lack of reaction is better than an adverse one.  “May I ask from where you plan to commence this mission?”

He turns, then, to the Garrison’s troops stationed closest to his podium.

“Pixis.  I believe the Wall surrounding Trost has been completed sealed, am I correct?”

“Ah.  Well,” as stark the contrast between passive-aggressive Nile and the cut-and-dry Erwin is, Pixis’s noncommittal response is nothing if not a neutral party. “We certainly don’t intend to open it again.”

Had Erwin been the praying kind, he would have thanked several deities ten times over for Pixis’s unending cooperation.

“As for that, we would like to set out from the eastern district of Karanes.”  He was glad to know that the outline of their mission plans, mapped out and detailed much more extensively with his and Zoë’s notations, came in handy.  “From there, we intend to proceed to the district of Shiganshina.”

“Of course,” Erwin is quick to assure the Generalissimo, “we will provide the details of such a plan once the date of the operation has been determined—”

One of Pastor Nick’s supporters, garb recognizable as a Merchant from one of the inner districts, raises his hand to interrupt the Commander – and does.

“J-Just a moment!”  After every pair of eyes – including Zacklay’s and Erwin’s – round on him, the Merchant stammers out his suggestion.  “In that case, shouldn’t we seal all the wall gates once and for all?  The Colossal Titan can only destroy the gates now.  If we can strengthen them before it comes back, we needn’t endure any further attacks!”

“Shut up, Merchant Dog!”  From higher up in the defense stands, a soldier’s associate yells to the prosecution down below.  “With that Titan’s power, we can finally get back into Wall Maria!”

“We’ve indulged your delusions of grandeur and siphoning our hard-earned tax money long enough!”  The Merchant, unfortunately for the soldier who spoke up, won’t be quieted as easily as the Pastor.  “Who do you think makes that money for the military to use – or I should say abuse – in the first place?!”

The presence beside Erwin shifts and steps around him before even Zacklay can attempt to reroute the flow of courthouse conversation.

“You talk a big talk, Market Pig.”  Levi, arms crossed over chest, scowls.  “But how are you so sure the Titans’ll just wait around while we seal up the gates?”

“That’s not the poi—”

“That _is_ the point,” Levi shoots back, scowling, leaving the Merchant at a complete loss for words.  “Not to mention the only ‘we’ you’re talking about are the wee little benefactors who fatten up your wallets that you’re trying to protect.”  His gaze darkens, and Erwin wonders if he’s recalling the sight of countless individuals assimilating into the Underground’s citizen culture, enclosed in a pen through society’s inequities and long-lingering social hierarchies.  “The people who starve because there isn’t enough land to sow don’t even figure into what you keep adding up.”

“W-We just thought that we could survive,“ The Merchant says, regaining his bearings somewhat, “by sealing the gates of the Walls—“

But this proposal turned out to be the worst possible cross for Pastor Nick to bear.

“How dare you—!  Such treason!  Mere humans altering Wall Rose, a gift sent from God Himself?”  Outstretched palms to the heavens, Pastor Nick was the very picture of deliverance and enlightenment.  “Can’t you see how these Walls, God’s work far beyond human comprehension, are meant to be treated?  Humanity is not fit to lay a single finger on them—!”

Down below, Erwin can hear a conversation emerge in lieu of the confounded courthouse’s confusion.

“Thanks to people like them,” Armin comments, “it took ages before we could even mount weaponry on the Walls.“

“They do have a lot of support and power within the Walls.”  The Commander recognizes, then, the Garrison Squad Leader who Pixis had often lauded for her trustworthiness and tenacity: Rico Brzenska.  “That makes people like them hard to deal with as it is.”

“Hearsay!”  Pastor Nick cries, ignoring Zacklay’s visible exasperation.

“ _You’re_ the one who needs to hear what _I’m_ saying!”  The middle-aged Merchant moans, not yet heeding the warning to Zacklay’s raised palm.

“Excuse me?

Apparently, that was the final excuse for the Generalissimo.

“Silence.”  Zacklay slams his palm down on the podium thrice – and several times more.  “You can discuss your personal philosophies and opinions elsewhere.”

“Jaeger, I’ll ask you directly.”  Eren, surprised at being suddenly addressed, sits upright to full attention.  “Can you continue to serve as a soldier, a role which demands servitude to the betterment of Humanity, and use your Titan powers?”

His answer, almost immediate, rings out through the waiting courthouse.

“Yes…yes, sir!  I can!”

Zacklay hums, yet again, to acknowledge the boy’s response.

But something in the strange glint behind half-moon spectacles leaves Erwin inexplicably unnerved when Zacklay sifts through the papers on his desk and selects one from the stack.

“I see.  Yet I also see from the report submitted by Trost’s defense squads that says…and I quote…

“‘Immediately after turning into a Titan, Eren Jaeger swung his fist at Mikasa Ackerman.’”

Eren draws in a sharp breath, turning at once to where Mikasa – pulling her hair over the visible mark upon her cheek – turns away from him.

No, Erwin realizes at the hissed murmur from the soldier beside Mikasa, she turned to Rico just then for an explanation over what was just revealed.

“Is Mikasa Ackerman present?”

Unable to hide from Zacklay’s pointed gaze, Mikasa raises her mellifluous cadence enough to be heard.

“Yes, sir.  I’m here.”

“And so you are.”  Zacklay peers at her from over metal frames and wood-furnished stands.  “Is it true that, as a Titan, Jaeger attacked you?”

Mikasa looks to Eren, then, this time not for answers. 

Erwin thinks the soldier beside her – Rico, was it? – means to convey something to her through a sidelong glance, but Erwin cannot hear either of them from where he stands.

What he does hear, after the silence abates, is a soft admission that draws an audible reaction from the spectating courtroom.

“—Yes, it is.”

* * *

No one can stay quiet after hearing this, whether in the concession stands or on opposing sides.

“I knew it.”  The Merchant booms while staring at Eren, who clearly hadn’t been cognizant of his actions at the time, based on his expression.  “He’s just another Titan!”

“But,” Mikasa continues to explain, impassioned, “if it means anything at all, Eren saved my life twice before that in his Titan form.”

“The first time, just before a Titan would have crushed me in its hands, he stood between us, protecting me.  The second, Armin and I were saved when the three of us stood at gunpoint by the Garrison troops from a high-explosive shell blast that would have killed us both.”

“I would like these facts to be considered as well,” finishes Mikasa, the stalwart girl’s mouth thinned into a stoic line, “Generalissimo.”

Out of all those Erwin expected to hear dissent from, Nile was not among the highest ranked.

“The Military Police also has the same information taken down from Mikasa Ackerman’s witness testimony.”

It’s around this point, Erwin realizes, that his earlier flash of panic had its place after all. 

“But,” Nile goes on, grimace affected, “I believe you should keep in mind that what you heard just now, Generalissimo, could be greatly colored by her personal feelings.”

“Mikasa Ackerman lost her parents at an early age, according to her military profile, and was taken in by the Jaeger household.”

Mikasa bites her lower lip, eyes remaining focused on where Nile stands across the main stage, and Erwin isn’t sure whether it’s Eren’s expression of absolute panic or the sympathy rising to temper his own features that spectators will notice first.

“Our investigation also reveals that another related event occurred around the same time period.”  Nile refers back to the papers already in his hands.  “At age nine, Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman killed three robbers who tried to kidnap her.”

He fears then not for the murmurs in the stands – who grow even more restless – but for Eren’s fists wound so tight around the chains of his shackles and Armin’s nerve-wrecked hold on Mikasa’s arm that he’s sure their conjoined vice grip would draw blood.

Whether these facts are the truth or not, Erwin fears for them. 

All three of them.

“Even if it was self-defense, one must at least question their fundamental humanity.”  The way Nile speaks, appealing to the crowd’s escalating pathos, is lost on Erwin, who finds his eyes scanning the prosecution bench.  Their patronizing eyes are all on Eren, who _trembles_ , surely forcing himself to remain silent as the Police Chief offers a rhetorical question.  “Is it right to entrust humanity’s fate, resources, and lives to someone like him?”

The ‘jury’ weighs in, the issue discussed no less relevant to their preordained stance.

“He’s right…”

“No matter what the kid looks like—”

“—a Titan is a Titan down to the core!”

“And what if she’s the same as him?”  Over the din of a unanimous court, the inner-district Merchant brandishes his pointer finger at Mikasa.  “Just because it looks like a human doesn’t mean it is!”

“That’s right!”  A witness from the prosecution joins in the outcries.  “Just to be safe, we should ‘examine’ her, too!”

Eren whirls around to the prosecution bench.

“Hold on!”  After those wide and searching aquamarine eyes look to the judge for approval, Eren turns toward the source of the court’s turmoil.  “Call me a monster or whatever you want, but Mikasa has nothing to do with this!”

The young officer, thunderstruck at being noticed by the ‘monster’ himself, won’t even step into the aisle. 

“A-And you expect us to believe that?”

“You should, because it’s true!”

“If you’re covering for her,” the Merchant hollers, “that means she’s one of your kind!”

“I’m not—!”

Eren strains against the cuffs secured to the metal pole and nearly bends it outright.

A metallic reverb rings through the entire court, the crowd’s collective shudder to the sound nothing less than smothering.

Letting go of an inhale held in for far too long, Erwin’s exhale seems to float, flutter, festering at their inevitable loss.

It isn’t until Eren speaks to the court after nearly a minute of staggered, gravesite silence that Erwin’s worst premonitions are confirmed.

“…No— I’m not saying that.  But what you guys keep saying just fits to your own theories and whatever suits your way of thinking, and—”

“Then what are you,” Nile’s stiff shoulders are no longer, trepidation evident, “trying to say?”

Erwin can’t see his expression, but he imagines those same eyes that he and Levi saw through the jail cell bars – the same look of primordial desire and intensity – are now turned on Nile.

“People like you…people who haven’t even seen a Titan…what could you possibly know about fear?!”

Eren falls quiet for several seconds. 

Zoë near tips over the railing out of sheer suspense.

From the looks on everyone’s faces in the low- and mid-level stands and how even Zacklay has picked his head up from his papers, Erwin thinks they’ve come to a concession point at last.

“Do you just expect those of us who have power to fight for your sake?

Eren turns to the soldiers turned police officers now, no less emphatic.

“Learning how to survive alone is a struggle…so if anything, fight for your right to _survive!_ ”

A strange pause, then, and something in the air changes.

“…And if you aren’t planning to fight, then…you’re all…cowards…”

Pastor Nick – surprised – is the first to answer Eren while the Merchant, beside him, openly gawks.

“Excuse me?”

A Titan’s roar is nothing compared to the sheer _rage_ with which Eren answers them back.

“If that’s how you’re gonna play it,

then just shut up

and bet everything you have on me!”

* * *

As soon as he throws his head back and screams, the court hears _creak_ followed by a lurching, muted _crunch_.

It takes almost a minute of stunned silence, in the wake of a slumped Eren’s labored breathing as his bloodied wrists steam in their cuffs, for the shockwave effect and the dust to settle.

“Ready your weapons,” Nile calls to the officers closest to him.  “Now!”

* * *

Nile’s armed men are nothing less than terrified.

But even as they obey – even as they hurry to load their rifles – there’s not a sound of protest emerges from the crowd as two gun barrels are pointed right at Eren.

Not a sound of protest to the real inhumanity – the real threat to Humanity – that presents itself in this silent courtroom.

Not a sound of protest, Erwin thinks, to his command implicit.

 _Go_ , the hand rests steady at the center of Levi’s wingspan, a firmer hand than he intends to spur his Captain along with.

(But there’s no need for whispers exchanged or apologies, not when his Captain hops right over the stands, near noiseless as he steps to the center stage—

—And lands a roundhouse kick straight into Eren’s jaw.)


	47. when the clouds clear, we'll be standing here

The crowd is so quiet, so still, that Erwin hears the clattering drop of Eren’s tooth in the moment it hits the ground, long before the trial’s aftermath.

As soon as Eren’s recovered enough to look up, Levi rounds on him.

Again.

A sharp kick lands with a startled grunt, this time to his side.

Again.

Someone behind Erwin inhales, painful as Levi’s assault looks from this vantage point.

And again.

Levi grabs a fistful of Eren’s hair, yanking him forward.

Again.

The sounds of unsettled shock echo behind and around him, then.  

Again.

A groan of sympathy, too, when the Captain’s knee connects with Eren’s face.

And again.

Down below, Mikasa nearly leaps over the stands to confront Levi – only to be held back by Armin just in time.

Again.

The prosecution echoes with strangled cries of confusion. 

They look horrified.

They’re disgusted.

(The same men who were so keen on dissecting a young girl and boy, the same men who want to protect themselves and their chosen wives and children and profitable parties in their massive manors within the Capital – why do they seem so frightened? 

This display of a soldier’s obedience like the one before them is hardly enough to warrant such a look. 

If they’d like, Erwin thinks with a certain nihilism he wonders if he’s gained from spending too much time around Levi, they could arrange for much more brutality than this.)

* * *

Again.

Timing, as per Zoë’s research notes on Titan regeneration, means everything. 

Again.

Five to seven seconds for skin cells to congeal again.

Again.

Fifteen seconds for vital points located on and tissues within the body to reform. 

Levi knows to utilize this ability of Eren’s to the fullest, knows their plan to prove Eren controllable to warrant the Legion’s custody, knows because he **suggested** it, in counterpoint logic offered as such:

_The court’s eyes will be on Jaeger, so let’s give Pinecone Face and his MP dogs something to feast their eyes on._

When Levi’s boot slams down to shove Eren’s face to the dirty floor, Erwin hopes this will suffice.

Again.

* * *

“Say whatever you want – but to me, there’s no more effective discipline for someone than pain.” 

Levi pauses, almost thoughtful, as he stares down at the downtrodden Titan Shifter.

“Though right now, you’re not exactly being seen as human, let alone animal.  Granted, it’s a hell of a lot easier to kick you while you’re down, so—“

Levi continues, in repeated measure, his kicking. 

Eren’s sides, legs, _face_. 

Everything but the back of his neck, they decided, assuming that Titan Shifters should have – in theory – the same weaknesses as other Titans.

So Erwin stands by silent, knowing as well as Levi that necessity outweighs morality.

“Wait,” Nile manages, wheezing, a hand held out in cautious venture.  “Levi—”

Nile must be considerably shaken, Erwin thinks, to call him by his given name.

“What do you want,” Levi huffs, “Cactus Chin?”

“You’re…really pushing it.”  What Nile brings up, indeed, is an observation that Erwin expects from the ever-rational Chief.  “What if he gets angry and turns into a Titan?”

Eren, trembling, stares up at Levi, red running in rivulets from his nose down to his chin.

Levi kicks Eren back down again, for good measure.

“I thought—” the Captain yanks Eren up by his hair, veritable apathy in the face of countless horror-stricken soldiers, “—you guys were planning on dissecting him?”

Nile has nothing to say in response to this and neither do his henchmen.

“When he turned into a Titan last time, he killed twenty Titans before he passed out.”  Such were the facts from witness reports Erwin discussed with him over the course of the previous evening together, once they headed back to bed after a second (longer) post-coitus shower, were equally relevant here.  “If he’s anyone’s public enemy, it’s the Titans’.  And if anyone’s ‘pushing it’ or thinking of dangerous shit, it’s you guys.”

“Though I say that, the brat’s no enemy of mine.”  Once he shoves Eren back to the floor, Levi turns on the prosecution – particularly a dumbfounded Nile and his policemen in waiting.  “But what about **you** sorry sods?  Think about it and answer this question alone.”

“If you had to do it,” Levi’s eyes narrow, “could you really kill a Titan brat like this?”

Erwin lifts a hand, then, to address the overseeing judge who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this entire affair.

“Generalissimo.  Sir.  I have a proposal.”

When he looks to Zacklay, Erwin is more startled by the fact that Zacklay’s removed his glasses and, nevertheless, looked to him with undivided interest.

“Which is?” 

“The extent of Eren’s Titan abilities is still a mystery to us all.  A danger to us all, I’d say, from the general consensus of everyone’s testimonies.” 

If the corners of Zacklay’s mouth turning upward ever so slight were any indication, Erwin wasn’t doing a terrible job at reestablishing his credibility. 

(Then again, perhaps that outlandish scheme that Levi thought up to convince the majority that Eren could be tamed had the largest part of all in convincing him.)

“Hence, a proposal.”  Erwin sweeps his arm across the way, motioning to the center stage.  “If you would, sir, allow Captain Levi to take responsibility for Eren when we embark on an expedition outside of the Walls.”

“With Eren,” Zacklay squints, suddenly, “present as well?

“Yes, sir.”  Another beat, and then Erwin continues.  “Based on the expedition’s results, I’d like you to judge whether Eren can control his Titan power and whether to consider him Humanity’s Hope or Humanity’s Bane.

Generalissimo Zacklay lets out the longest and most genuine-sounding hum Erwin’s heard throughout the entire trial.

“Controlling Eren Jaeger…”

It isn’t until Zacklay’s refocused his faraway stare onto Eren, swaying a bit as he attempts to sit upright against the pole again, and back to Levi that Erwin finds he can breathe again.

“Can you do that, Levi?”

Unlike when Nile called Levi as much, Erwin suspects this has more to do with Zacklay’s access to military files on officers as well as soldiers and recognizing that Levi never took on a surname. 

“If it comes to that,” Levi assures, “I can put him down myself.  The only problem is I doubt I can do anything less.”

A taut pause follows.

Mikasa’s stare alone could do nothing less than bore into Levi as Armin clutches her arm, desperately, in a vice-grip to keep her from lunging over the stands.

Levi glances from Zacklay to the prosecution – nothing to say, nothing to offer in objection, now.

Generalissimo Zacklay’s hands fold over one another and press to graying moustache and beard before his rumination of their proposal yields.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve made my decision.”

(The gavel swings down—

And, with this single gesture,

their fates are sealed.)


	48. if all is grounded (go make a mountain out of it)

“Well,” Zoë sighs, kneeling in front of the sofa with a procured basin and a first aid kit, “that went about as well as we expected.”

This conference room attached to the courthouse assembly hall, though enough to accommodate two people, just barely fits five.

Five very different people who were, currently, scattered about and discussing the trial in its aftermath.

“Well,” Mike matches her indulgence, the nearby window panels’ sunset-washed colors flooding across rugged features as he smirks in Zoë’s direction, “at least it’s done and over with.”

“And,” Erwin adds from the wall closest to the exit door, “it’s done and over with the verdict turned in our favor.”

Eren, all at once, flinches away from Zoë from surprise.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, a sheepish grin later remarking, “that looked like it hurt.”

 “A little,” Eren admits, accepting Mike’s offered damp cloth to press it to his own face. 

“So how long _did_ it hurt for?” 

Unneeded remark as it seemed on the surface, it was – to Erwin’s ears – more a subtle jab at the ‘show’ that Levi put on than in reference to the way Eren winced over the applied antiseptic burn.

“Not…too long?  After a while, it’s like your body’s stuck at the bottom of an empty barrel.”  Forehead creases deepen while he attempts to explain the regeneration process.  “Sounds and stuff start to get way far away.  Eventually, you get this weird burst of stamina all over again, and it’s like—”

If curiosity were a vice, then any form of heavenly virtues would be lost on someone like Zoë.

“Thank you for keeping an eye out from above,” Erwin tells Mike, after taking him aside while Zoë and Eren’s chatter continued.  “Other than Pastor Nick looking like he wanted to jump in to interject at every other sentence, was there anything else?"

“Not that I could see.  I did notice that Pixis was especially calm throughout the whole trial, though.”

“I noticed that as well,” Erwin tells him, shoulder pat and brief flash of a smile equally appreciative.  “Well, like you said, it’s over for the time being.  You were a great help, Mike.”

And, right after he says that, Mike nearly gets hit in the face by the swinging door.

“Done,” Levi announces upon arrival.

When he whirls about face and sees Mike peering at him from behind the door, the younger man waves several legal documents at the Squad Leader’s nose. 

“What?  They’re just papers.”

“I can see that,” Mike grumbles, unwilling to step away from his wooden shield.  “‘Just papers,’ huh?”

“Just _papers_ , Mike,” Levi rolls his eyes – though, soon after, he looks to Erwin with the small stack held out in front of him.  “Legal papers or some shit.  Here, Erwin.  After you sign these, I’ll throw ’em in Zacklay’s office – or at his shitty old face, whichever one comes first – and we’ll be good to go.”

“Like you threw the door,” Mike snuffles, more from the dust collecting behind the door than genuine dismay, “at my face?”

Levi, briefly, hesitates like he’s considering an apology.

“Your face isn’t that old,” the Captain assures him.  As if that was the sole solution to all their problems.  “Anyway, why were you behind the door in the first place?”

“Let’s just make sure,” Erwin sighs, while initialing the final page, “Mike doesn’t get hit by anything else he’s not expecting from now on.  Please.” 

“Levi, stay back with me for a bit.  As for you, Mike,” Erwin turns to each of them, “I’ll leave the task of handing off the documents to Zacklay in your capable hands.”

* * *

 

The three men shuffle outside.

Erwin offers a mild _excuse us for a few minutes_ to Eren.

Levi warns Zoë to _try_ _not to_ _yak the poor kid’s ear off while we’re gone_ and gives her a pointed look.

Mike departs once he’s taken the folder from him – though he does make a passing remark about how he _won’t take too long so don’t hold up our little Captain too long either_ , and Erwin isn’t sure whether it’s a double entendre or if he’s reading into things too much – and soon, he and Levi are alone again.

Alone, but not at any lack for discussion.

“Levi,” begins Erwin, “I called you out here because I wanted to thank you.”

It’s no surprise to him when Levi _stares_ at him like he’s turned into a Titan before his very eyes.

“For what?” 

It’s an odd, unfamiliar sensation that comes over him then.

“For,” he pauses, unsure of how to proceed, “being here.”

That faltering answer does earn him a reaction, however.

“That’s pretty,” Levi mumbles, the floorboards evidently far more interesting than Erwin’s current state of uncertainty, “damn unspecific.”

“Are you asking,” Erwin almost smiles, realizing now how best to explain himself, “for specifics?”

Eyes to the ground, to a distant point farther down the way, to everywhere but where Erwin stands, Levi grunts something that sounds like _what do you think asshole_.

“Your ‘performance’ today,” Erwin keeps going, “was spectacular.  Not a single person in that courtroom would have guessed you were anything less than serious about putting Eren in his place.”

“Bastard’s got a head like a lead cannonball.”  Levi makes a face.  “Though that just meant I had to kick him extra to make sure he felt it.”

”Which looked about as brutal to my eyes as I’m sure it did to everyone in court,” Erwin comments, “but it was necessary.”

“For a head as hard as that?”  Levi waves his hand about, dismissive.  “No doubt about it.”

“You were controlled as well.  Very deliberate.”  To encourage the emphatic nods Levi responds with, Erwin adds on, “The right amount of personality and persistence.”

A strange silence, foreboding.

“Go on.”  If he didn’t know any better, Erwin would suspect Levi was testing him.

Erwin _does_ feel like he’s being tested, in fact, though he can only imagine the subject.

“And…”

The corner of Levi’s lips twitch. 

“And?”

Erwin takes hold of his palm in mid-wave.

“And,” Erwin’s other hand reaches for Levi’s cravat, loosening and smoothing down the fading fabric, both hands soon joining in the attempt, “your presentation on the visual and verbal fronts were first-rate.  It was precisely as you said it would be.  Not one person in the courtroom could look away from you, Levi.”

This silence is neither awkward nor anxious. 

Introspective, perhaps.

Intrigued, even.

”Not one person.”  The pads of Erwin’s fingers rest light at his nape when his ad hoc adjustments are done, those careful eyes unbearably bright beneath his gaze.  “Not even you?”

While it was far from the first time he’s praised Levi for a job well done, it’s the first time since the younger one’s taken to building a nesting grounds to rest his weary wings that Erwin’s ever heard Levi ask something so earnestly.

Erwin, of course, is nothing if not a generous Commander.

“Especially me.”  The confession connects, makes contact, at the precise point where their mouths meet and their hands – laced, conjoined, at Levi’s voiceless request – are as warm as the understanding that his Captain was the one praised but it’s Erwin who feels impossibly pleased with himself.  “You were remarkable, Levi.  You did well.”

( _You did well, my dear Captain, at proving your worth to the others who doubted your place at my side._ )

* * *

Once they’re all inside the meeting room again, Levi and Mike retreating to their respective corners of the room, Erwin decides it’s high time to address Eren.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”  He means what he says, a genuine undertone of appreciation taking over his cadence.  “But thanks to your cooperation, we were able to get you out of that jail cell.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”  Eren stares at Erwin, almost awestruck, and Erwin notices for the first time that Eren isn’t built small or childlike at all.  From this proximity, unlike from the courthouse stands or from behind bars, he simply looks _young_.  “I…don’t know what I did to cooperate, in all honesty, but whatever I did, I’m, uhhh, glad I did it?”

“Without the right timing and playing our cards at just the right moment,” Erwin chuckles, “this wouldn’t have been possible.  Without **you** , this wouldn’t have been possible.”

He kneels down to hold out a hand for Eren to shake.

Eren, so flummoxed that he drops the cold compress held to his cheek, lets his jaw drop open.

“You have my respect,” Erwin declares, “and I look forward to working with you from now on, Eren.”

Zoë, demonstrative as ever, pats Eren on the back so hard he starts to choke.

Mike, ever the silent supporter, must have given Eren a thumbs-up or some equivalent for Eren to have nodded, smiled, and waved like that.

Their new protégé, grabbing Erwin’s outstretched hand with a noise not unlike a small dog’s yelp of absolute joy, beams.

“—Y-Yes, sir!  And the same goes for me, too!”

It’s at this point that Levi moves from the opposite wall to slump unceremonious onto the same couch as Eren: arms outstretched, legs folded, and aloof persona already in place.

Eren, predictably, flinches away as soon as Levi sits down next to him.

“So.  Eren.”

If they hadn’t been sitting side by side, Erwin suspects Eren would have saluted to the Captain straightaway.

“S-Sir!”

“Does the same,” inquires Levi, “go for me, too?”

Never one to miss a beat, Eren’s answer is immediate, if not a touch overeager.

“Yessir!”  Then, as if considering it, Eren looks aslant and draws into himself while amending, “I know you just…did what you had to do.”

Levi’s eyelids drop shut, satisfied enough with that reply to let the issue be.

“As long as you know that.”

“But you know, Levi,” Zoë chimes in, “you went a little too far, if you ask me.  You knocked a tooth right out of his mouth with that first kick.”

The investigative Squad Leader unravels a handkerchief she had been holding wrapped in her pocket to reveal the blood-dyed tooth that lay inside.

“See?”

Repulsed, Levi wrinkles his nose. 

“You actually went back for that dirty-ass thing?  And here I thought you couldn’t get any creepier.”

“Hey,” Zoë whines, petulant, “this kind of thing is a prime lab sample for a scientist like me, okay!”

“What do you think, Eren?”  Erwin finds he’s equal parts surprised and amused that Levi’s attempt at droll sardonicism extends to rare conversational moments like these.  “Compared to the guys who wanted to dissect you, I’ll bet this four-eyed freak looks way worse to you.”

“Don’t lump me with those people, Little Levi.” Much fonder when she turns to Eren, Zoë soothes, “I wouldn’t touch a hair on Eren’s head.”

“Speaking of which— Eren.”  That gleam in her eyes almost never means anything less than an on-the-spot idea, Erwin knows, and steps back closer to Mike by the window. “Let me see inside your mouth for a second?”

Eren, sensing Erwin’s retreat, glances at him with a slight pout.

When he sees Levi hasn’t budged, however, his suspicion gives way to reluctant compliance.

When Eren opens his mouth, Zoë shrieks.

“What does that **mean** —?”

“Zoë—?!”

Immediately, Mike and Erwin turn from the window to step back over and see what surprised her.

“What the fuck does _what_ mean?”  Despite his testiness, Levi inched several feet away from Eren, trying to peer around Erwin and Mike’s backs.

Eren makes a soft noise of protest around Zoë fingers jammed in his mouth and – when Erwin peers around them – he knows then why her reaction was so vehement.

“The tooth…”

Levi nudges his way between Erwin and Mike’s arms just as Zoë reveals: 

“…it grew back.”


	49. can’t you see (what’s been found)

After the verdict hits the public, the graduation assembly, predictably, gets postponed for another week.

Last-minute change as it is, the Legion’s upcoming accommodations extend much farther than a delayed graduation assembly.

For example, the Legion’s move into newer, larger facilities.

There’s an old bastion to be used several tens of kilometers from their current base. 

Abandoned, according to the scouts sent to scope out the place beforehand, but also considerable amounts more land space – or so Nanaba and Mike tell the skeptical soldiers who wonder if this is their division’s punishment for taking in one Eren Jaeger.

(“Is he already a part of the Corps?”

“I guess so.  Honorary member by default or some garbage.  Though I guess it’s good if he brings his trainees friends to join with him.”

“That’s if the Titan kid has friends.”

“Or if the Titan part of him doesn’t take over and he kills us all.”)

But it’s hardly punishment, Erwin assures the scouts who find him in his office when he isn’t reporting to the Consulate and alternating from meetings to statement-writing, if Eren was willing to join them of his own free will.

(“Nah, probably not.  ’sides, I’m sure Captain Levi knows how to handle him.”

“Speaking of, did anyone here actually see what went down in court that day, other than the Commander and his main squad?”

“I went!  You should’ve seen the way Captain Levi knocked the stuffing right out of Jaeger!”

“And the Commander just…let him have at it?”

“Like friggin’ clockwork, man.  Almost like they planned it from the beginning.”)

But it’s hardly punishment, Erwin thinks as he steps around boxes upon boxes of his and Levi’s belongings to be moved in a week into the new citadel for their future operations, when the last of their concerns ought to be what Eren will do from here and where _they’ll_ go from here.

(“Speaking of.  You know, there’s been a buncha rumors flying ’round the Legion lately.  Some scouts’re sayin’ the Commander’s been acting differently these days.”

“Different how?”

“Like…he’s gotten scary focused.  Intense-focused.”

“Hasn’t he always been like that?”

“I guess…but— it’s more like you feel it in the air when he’s around?”)

It’s hardly punishment to him. 

(“When he stops in for a visit to the base before we move to New HQ, you’ll see what I mean.”)

It’s purpose.

(“Well, when we’re all moved in, then.”)

It’s intent.

 

* * *

 

It’s all Erwin can do for the Legion while he works and wishes and waits on the impending changes that he knows will be coming, knows _they_ will be coming, even if he can’t say for certain when and how.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Mister Smith!  I brought something for you.”

It’s impossible to miss who would knock at the door twice, just so, and call him that.

Stepping around several cases and finding they won’t budge quite like he wants to, Erwin decides against moving the boxes around to greet them. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess around my desk, but come in—” 

The door opens.

“You weren’t kidding about the mess,” quips Nanaba the instant they step inside his office, glancing over the parcels to be sent off today.  “So how many of these are Levi’s?”

“Believe or not,” Erwin signs off yet another document from the condensed pile, “only about a third of these are.  The ones marked in blue paint are to be sent off elsewhere, though.”

“Is that top-secret information I’m not supposed to know about?” Nanaba harrumphs, shutting the door behind them.

“They’re for an orphanage, actually.”  A wan grin flickers across Erwin’s features.  “Donations for the children being sheltered there.”

“Our Legion’s charitable couple,” Nanaba giggles.  “So how much of the stuff in _those_ boxes are Levi’s?”

Erwin looks up to take from Nanaba the last of his to-be-signed documents for the day and adds them to the pile.

“That,” Erwin tells them with a shake of his head and a mild laugh, “is top-secret information, Nanaba.”

 

* * *

 

 

( _Are you sure?_

_How many times are you gonna ask me—_

_This is a substantial amount, Levi._

_I can see that._

_They were your belongings, but more than that…this was your past._

_I know._

_…I’m not against it, of course, if this is what you want._

_It is._

_Shall I let you do the honors, then?_

_Naturally._

The power contained in a single touch of a torch, a single brush of flames – to the bonfire brush encircling every flammable object, firewood, paper scraps, **everything** – turns everything that belonged to the Underground Crow soon into billowing, dissolving smoke.)

 

* * *

 

“Captain Levi, sir!  I brought—”

“I know.”

Eren frowns at him, not done fidgeting in place.

“Captain.  Captain Levi.   Sir?  Umm, if you don’t mind—”

Levi glares back at him, done brushing down his mare’s snout one last time before the journey to their new Headquarters.

“I do mind.”

Several more seconds pass.

When Levi attempts to move toward the side of his horse to mount, Eren blocks his path.

“For the love of ever-loving fuck—”

“C-Captain, sir!  You forgot something very important and I don’t want you to leave or get on your horse without it!”

Hearing this, Levi stares at Eren.

Who stares back at Levi.

Who stares back, unflinching, at Eren.

“Captain Levi…” 

“ _What_ , Eren?”

“…You forgot your saddle back in the stables, sir.”

A beat.

An estranged silence.

Levi’s hand lifts, then, and Eren recoils as he stumbles back to prevent his shoulder from being—

Patted.

“…Thanks.”

There’s a certain quirk to Eren’s self-satisfied smirk, something as endearing as it is honest.

“No problem, sir!  Anytime.”

When Levi heads back into the stables to retrieve his saddle, walking his horse back there with him, Erwin decides to make his appearance known. 

“Eren.  Out and about bright and early this morning, I see.”

“Oh!  You too, sir.”  Eren grins, an enthusiastic retort – until he remembers, awkwardly tagging on: “I mean, Commander, sir, you’re…up early, too…”

“It’s alright,” Erwin assures him.  “Unlike Shadis, I’m not the sort of superior officer you need to constantly address as ‘sir.’  Just speak as you would with anyone else you hold a common respect for.  As you do with Levi.”

“Yes si— Commander!”

Even Erwin’s strongest restraints can’t keep a light chortle from slipping past his officer mask. 

“Yes, Eren?”

“Nothing, s— it’s nothing, Commander.” Eren looks sheepish.  “Just wanted to try out calling you by your title.  See how it sounds.”

“It sounds,” Erwin nods, just barely repressing the urge to let his smile lift even more, “very good.  Keep it up, soldier.  I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

Erwin hasn’t ever seen Eren look quite so beside himself, not even when he approached the boy a week ago to welcome him into the Legion.

“Thank you, Commander Erwin!”

Unlike Levi, Erwin’s hand reaches out to settle on a quick pat to the boy’s hair, an action not at all deliberated but worth wonders in the reaction it garners.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, “Eren Jaeger.”

Chorales of hooves slow to a jogging line around the stalls.

“Commander.”  Eld is the first to greet him directly, though Gunter and Auruo lead the procession and salute him from their mounts.  “Captain Levi should be joining us shortly, and Petra should be—”

”Right behind you,” Petra chirrups from several lengths away, bringing up the rear, while Erwin watches all three squad members turn around in unison. 

Eren, done scrabbling onto his horse, greets her with a sheepish smile which she returns in earnest. 

“Looks like someone’s ready and raring to go,” she says with gusto.

“Of course!”  Eren says to the end of a vigorous nod.  “I’m ready for whenever we’re given the go-ahead to ride out, ma’am.”  

Petra suddenly slumps forward and rests her head between her horse’s flattened ears.

“We’re literally a year apart, Eren…do me a favor,” she implores, more casual than Erwin’s ever seen her, “and drop the ‘ma’am’?  I get the whole rank-is-important thing, but hearing you call me that just feels weird.”

“In some districts,” Erwin chimes in, “titles like those are a sign of respect.  Which is how, I’m sure, Eren intended for it to be taken.”

As soon as he speaks up, Petra sits up.

“Honestly, I still can’t get used to being called ‘Miss Ral.’”  Her demeanor doesn’t change in the least, something Erwin appreciates.  “The elders in my hometown used to call Mother by that.”

Then again, if he couldn’t tell the difference between Petra the soldier approached on the battlefield and Petra the young woman approached in commonplace conversation, he wouldn’t last in this line of work.

“Would you prefer ma’am,” Erwin asks, guiding his white stallion to walk alongside the squad as they headed for the gates to wait for Levi, “instead of ‘Miss Ral’?”

Erwin isn’t sure whether it’s the teen’s finicky steed or Auruo himself that lets out an adenoidal noise that’s one part snort and one part snigger. 

Out of sheer spite, Petra knocks Auruo to the ground.

“I’d prefer just ‘Petra,’ actually,” she practically sparkles, willfully ignoring Eld and Eren glancing back in bemusement and Gunter howling when Auruo tips over, cursing all the way down to the dirt – leaving Erwin very much at a loss of whether to intervene, until she adds, “but out of the two choices you’ve given, I’d prefer ‘Miss Ral.’”

Erwin’s intended answer (that he’d be glad to call her ‘Petra’ if that was what she preferred) never comes.

Not when a pale gray blur sends their formation scattering and quite nearly results in Auruo getting trampled and Erwin has just enough time to mount his stallion and maneuver him aside until the trained sliding halt of a very familiar horse appearing beside them.

Along with its rambunctious rider, turned around to his soldiers and a panicked-looking Eren.

“Alright,” Levi scoffs, already in full-fledged Captain mode atop his now-fastened saddle.  “Less talking, more riding.  The sooner we get to the new HQ, the sooner this day’ll be over.”

“I’d say the same thing,” Erwin’s emergent remark, more dry witticism than bitter criticism, “if not for the next few days of preparation for the recruitment speeches means several days of visits to the Capital and back…not to mention the whole host of long and grueling recruitment speeches from the other divisions.”

“Cut yours down by a couple hours, then.”  The gray-spotted mare chuffs at Erwin’s cloak while Levi turns, briefly, to scold his soldiers and spur them along ahead of him.  “Your speeches’re always too damn long, anyway.”

“I seem to recall the one from your graduating year,” Erwin laughs, soothing the younger man’s horse chuffing at his cloak by pulling out a pouch of sugar cubes, “I cut it down to a little over a half-hour’s time.”

“Still too damn long,” Levi shrugs, waiting until his horse finishes feeding from Erwin’s hand to tug at the reins.  “Don’t bore the poor saps before we even get ’em to join, Erwin.” 

“If they couldn’t handle the preamble,” Erwin point, “they’d be unlikely to survive here in the Legion.”

 

* * *

 

They ride about halfway down the road to meet his squad at the gate when, suddenly, Erwin realizes they’ve the perfect opportunity to take advantage of their solitude.

By sheer force of habit and the pull of Levi’s stare, he leans in for a proper sending-off from the other’s lips.

He only gets about as far as a hand pressed still to the small of Levi’s back.

“Sorry, Commander, I forgot to ask you something before you go—!”

Levi pulls away, hissing a soft curse under his breath, at the cautious _clip-clop_ of hooves approaching them.

“That sounds serious,” the droll reply, surprisingly, doesn’t come from Levi this time but from Erwin.  “Should I steady my horse so I don’t fall off?”

Whether Eren can tell this side of his good-natured mask is a farce or not, he never comments on it. 

“No, sir!  No need for that.”  But while Eren laughs, Erwin thinks he’s caught a certain gleam in the brunet’s eyes that makes him wonder if he hadn’t imagined the scattered murmurings of _go ahead_ and _privacy_ from the pack’s hurried departure earlier after all.  “I just wanted to ask if you sent for my file…or if the papers made their way to you.”

“I’ve just sent a messenger to Shadis today.”  Erwin decides this answer, at least, will alleviate Eren’s concerns for his formal registration in the Scouting Legion.  “That way, we’ll have your file at our new base safe and sound by next week.”

This answer, at least, has partials truth engrained within it.

The latter part of it, at least, was the truth.

He neglects to mention that he’s had Eren’s file stored in his bottommost desk drawer since last week.

Neglects to mention, too, that all the 104th Trainee Squad’s highest-ranked graduates – as predicted by Zoë over the months before that – are all tucked into a box under lock and key sitting already at the site of their new Headquarters as well.

“That’s the Legion’s Commander for you,” breathes Eren, awestruck.  “Always thinking ahead.  Alright, then, thanks for looking into that and we’ll see you later tonight!”

Some secrets are, after all, better undoubted than unveiled.

“See you later tonight,” Erwin echoes, the sharp ends of his smile faltering only after Eren’s turned around and started off galloping for the main squad on his own – a true natural on horseback, he notes, even with little instruction, “and ride safe.”

He returns Eren’s wave just as he hears a quiet snort from Levi of, “Ridiculous.”

“What is?”  He really ought to spur Levi along now, too, so they could at least make it to their new base in a few hours, but he also knows no military men would agree to postpone the assembly just for him. 

First, it’s Levi’s hesitance to leave.

Following that, vexation relenting to an exasperated pinch to his cheek, which aches only after his displeased huff of _Levi_ earning him a look that’s almost fond.

And, like always, his Captain’s rare moments of propriety at work.

Stepping forward, hood thrown over both their heads, the sight of them from afar giving the appearance of a couple of officers exchanging secrets in clandestine near-silence.

Viewed much closer, the truth of their proximity reveals itself in how they fall into place at one another’s side.

“Your face,” Levi tells him, amusement and covetousness in equal amounts, after they’ve pulled apart, “when Eren interrupted us was ridiculous.  Don’t let anybody see you make faces like those when you’re in front of the trainee brats at the assembly later this week.”

Erwin pulls the hood back over Levi’s head, knowing full well the wind will try to throw his company and his cloak awry, and wills away the faint furrow of his brow with a grazing touch of his thumb.

“Take care,” his Commander tells him, all the while watching Levi’s eyes fall shut as he presses his cheek into the open cleft of Erwin’s palm, “not to let anyone see you make faces like these, then, and we’ll talk later tonight.”

 

* * *

 

(When he’s at last gotten Levi to go on ahead with the others, it’s to the lingering resonance of _later tonight_ and the gratitude that comes and goes – but always returns – each and every time he needs a reminder of what his brand of Humanity fights for.)

 


	50. tell me how you got so far, never making a single sound

Sometime during the next week, the Legion loses something important to them.

Two very important somethings.

 

* * *

 

To Zoë, the loss of a pair of live Titan specimens is a scientific tragedy.

She had, after all, been the one investigating, researching, writing notebook after notebook of observations on them. 

Squad Leader Moblit served as her lab assistant on most occasions, ensuring the tarp-covered tents and stakes nailed down to restrain them stayed intact throughout her experiments.

Reactions to visual and aural stimuli. 

Tests to determine their pain receptors.

Regenerative capacity under exposure to and under conditions of limited sunlight. 

They were provisions to a greater purpose, an opportunity presented to them once before.  But for reasons unknown to them all, the previous captured Titans did not survive.

Before Eren, these living creatures were all they had. 

Sonny and Bean. 

She named them, Erwin learns from reading her research notes, based on their physical appearance; Bean was smaller and stockier than Sonny while Sonny’s bulging, long-lashed eyes were his trademark.

Out in the stone-walled yard adjacent to her office/research lab established at their new base, Zoë sought to understand the reasons why, sought out the truth from a post self-imposed.

Zoë’s brand of justice was something that ran much deeper than Erwin could ever understand.

( _Hey, Erwin.  You’ll find out who did this to Sonny and Bean, right?  Whoever thought they could slip in at dawn to kill them…you’ll track them down and make them pay, won’t you?_ )

Zoë’s anger runs far deeper than Erwin can ever claim to understand.

( _I plan on doing that much at least, yes._ )

But Erwin also understands that anger is not only a vice, a serrated knife to be held with precaution and prudence alike.

( _You’ve always been good about sticking to plans and keeping promises, Erwin._ )

Anger can compel someone to do dangerous deeds.

Or, in some cases, lead someone to transcend their anger’s constraints and use it as their fighting cause.

( _As are you, Zoë._ )

He believes, with absolute sureness, that she has the capacity to lead an entire army – using that rage within her, the rage that’s built her into one who questions the world around her and seek answers built into logical theorems, statistics, and conclusions – and that’s precisely why he plans to name her interim Commander.

(This way, in the event anything should happen to him in the coming months, Erwin knows the Legion will be in good hands.)

 

* * *

_Back at the orphanage, they didn’t used to talk about the Titans nearly as much as the other nonhuman beings that used to roam around in the Old World._

_Scary stories to tell your kids right before bed to ensure they’d behave._

_Centaurs.  Merfolk.  Lycanthropes._

_Shape-Shifters._

But even when they used to talk about various things before curfew – Mike and Zoë nestled at either side and sharing the coverlets and tucked between them on the bottom bunk – Erwin never would have guessed a fleeting conversation like this would return to him now.

 

_Those old wives' tales are a load of bull, though._

When they used to speak of old dreams unrealized and new dreams unresolved, Erwin never imagined their hopes to be contingent on the existence of Titans who – much like the Shape-Shifters of Old World lore – were just as mortal as their non-transformative brethren.

 

_I’m surprised a scientist like yourself would buy into those myths and morality tales._

When Erwin had no inkling of the winding path down which his own ambitions would lead him, he also never would have foreseen this counterattack – this plan of theirs, a collective collision of wit and dedication to a greater cause – nor the chain of events it would set off in sequence.

 

_Oh, Mike, Erwin, ye of so little faith…who says I buy into those silly little stories?_

From the beginning of that week to the end of the recruitment assembly, Erwin never foresaw the events that had yet to unfold.

 

* * *

 

To Mike, the loss of their rare moments of free time is a Legion-wide travesty.

He had, after all, been planning for a proper anniversary celebration this year of the day he and Erwin and Zoë first joined the Scouting Legion.

“Hardly a day worth celebrating,” Erwin insists.  “If anything, you should celebrate the day that Nanaba joined our ranks.”  

He forgets, at times, the finer details of the second-youngest of his group of closest confidants. 

Though not an officer, Nanaba joined the force as a medic and an honorary graduate of the graduating cadet class previous to Levi’s. 

He forgets, too, that they’re considerably younger than Mike – not that he has any room to comment on their age difference.

“Better to celebrate every day we survive to see another day,” Mike says, and there’s a mildness to his usual gruff cadence that’s rarer than ever as of late.  “Plus, I plan on saving anniversary celebrations for a way more important occasion.”

“Which is?” 

Mike’s oddest trait is not his superhuman sniff-outs or harrowing height.

Certainly, the fact that he never fails to express his qualms over the way the military divisions are run, Erwin’s quietly droll second conscience since they were teenagers, never fails to speak up when he has a hunch that Erwin’s about to go off on his own again and stands by firm to remind that he isn’t meant to fight these fights alone.

It’s Mike’s uncharacteristic poker face that takes root over the contours of his face while speaking the most outlandish things.

“When we’ve finished off the last Titan,” Mike declares, looking toward the horizon lines cast by the sunset too distant to touch Erwin’s office windowsill, “I’m planning on asking them for their hand in marriage.”

(Erwin never hears, let alone notices, when his pen hits the ground.)

 

* * *

 

_If you ask me, thirty days after they join seems way too soon for our new recruits._

It’s familiar dissent which defines them, as it’s always been.

_Even if we consider Eren, whose present circumstances have brought him here?_

_He’s managing on horseback better than either of us could after a week’s time, Mike._

_They’re all young people with minds open to new experiences.  They’ll do just fine._

 

But for all their differences in opinion, Mike has yet to disagree with him entirely.

 

_Hopefully._

_More importantly,_

_we’ll have to prove Eren’s benefit to Humanity and the Consulate as soon as possible._

_Otherwise, the Military Police will be after us agai—_

More often than not, in fact, it’s Zoë who remains the most outspoken of his closest circle of comrades.

 

_You know you don’t have to talk in circles with me, Erwin._

But there are some plans which he cannot even divulge to his closest and oldest of friends.

 

_…Your nose is as sharp as ever, Mike._

Plans which he needs to keep hidden to the leftmost corner of his mind – and nowhere else.

 

_Not nearly as sharp as you, though._

From the start, however, he swore that no one alive may know of this plan of his to flush out the ‘Judas’ among them – not Nanaba, not Mike, not Zoë, nor any of their connected subordinates.

 

_When the time is right, you’ll be among the first to know._

Not even Levi could know of this, Erwin decided from the offset, if this plan were to have even the slightest chance of success.

 

* * *

 

Eren, most of all, would need to be left in the dark for this plan to succeed.

 

_From your vantage point,_

_what can you see?_

_Who do you think is the enemy, Eren?_

 

Because if the enemy is as close to him as Erwin suspects, they’ll need Eren as their safeguard.

 

_The enemy…?_

He likes the idea of using Eren as a bargaining chip no more than he likes the idea of letting whatever hidden entity watching the Legion attacking them with their backs turned.

 

_—I’m sorry._

_That was a strange thing to ask._

But what’s necessary is never a matter of morality –

and neither is the trap which they’ve been ensnared in –

and what entails such morality will always be a matter of perspective.

 

* * *

 

Nightfall, spreading from the stage platform to the silent audience of soldiers, surrenders its indigo hues to a spectrum of torchlight vermilions.

“As you may already know, my name is Erwin Smith, Commander of the Scouting Legion…and, as I’m sure you already know, you’ve all gathered here to choose and join a military branch that you’ll commit yourselves to from today forward.”

The graduated cadets of 104th are smatterings of faces and figures to Erwin from here. 

“My intention in standing here before you now, put bluntly, is to persuade you to join ours, of course.  I won’t put up airs about that.”

Hands folded behind his back, he starts his speech the same way as he has in countless years before this.

With any number of distinct differences to follow.

“But I also refuse to put up airs about the situation I’m well aware you all have faced.  During the Titan attack that took place at Trost, you saw for yourselves how terrifying they can be, along with the limits of your own power as individuals.”

When he looks out a bit farther into the crowd, he recognizes some of these graduates faces.  Young, frightened faces he’s seen before, on the rare occasion he could make it out to observe them during training with Zoë and Mike and, occasionally, Nanaba and Levi in tow. 

Connie Springer. 

Sasha Braus.

Jean Kirschstein.

Annie Leonhardt.

Reiner Braun.

Bertholdt Hoover.

Christa Renz.

Hovering together, stationed closer to the stage than the others, are two pairs of eyes that will watch him more closely than all the others.

Armin Arlert and Mikasa Ackerman.

“With that said, this battle brought Humanity closer to victory than it’s ever been.”

“Eren Jaeger—”  The name alone warrants a reaction as conflicted and startled from the graduates as he expects.  “—by risking his own life for our continued existence, has proven that Humanity’s Hope may be closer than we ever thought possible as well.”

Erwin’s eyes are full of intent as he watches them, turning to address each side of the assembled crowd of soldiers as he continues on with an even greater bombshell to disclose.

“Thanks to his help, not only did we stop the Titans’ advance but we’ve found a ‘key’ which may unlock their true nature.”

Surprise filters through the trainees, an unsettling amount of noise to the officers at either ends of the stage even more so. 

Zoë, Mike, and Petra are as surprised as Moblit and Hamilton.

(He suspects, had Levi been here and not stationed with the rest of his squad back at the base to ensure Eren remained safe and sound, the same reaction would have applied to the rest of those he trusted most.)

“We believe that in the basement of his Shinganshina home are answers to questions which plague Humanity.  Answers which Eren Jaeger, unfortunately, does not possess through direct but indirect means.”

“But,” Erwin adds, emphasis heavier than the escalating mumbles of piqued unease and palpable excitement, “if we can reach that basement, we can also reach the end of a century-long Titan rule.

They do not cease any sooner than these words are spoken, however.

“The basement?”

“They’ve already figured out where it is?”

“If we find out what they are, we can end this!”

Erwin’s voice reclaims their silence, rising over the discussion and dissent heaving and falling in shockwaves.

“We of the Scouting Legion intend to travel to that basement in Shinganshina.  However, that will require us to retake Wall Maria.”

All these are not new details to those standing offstage now. 

For them, this part of the discussion was a continuing one, a part of the plan which he intended to let all available parties know about.

What he intended to keep secret, of course, was that he wanted whoever it was that stole three-dimensional maneuver gear from the army’s main supply storehouse and killed Sonny and Bean to know about what they suspected lies in that basement – and that Erwin had every intention of letting the rest of the public know of it as well.

“In other words, our objective now is the same as we’ve expressed during the trial from the weeks previous.”

Mike and Petra – who insisted upon being here to assist the Commander – step out from behind the curtains to help hold up the map just high enough to be viewed when the graduates toward the back scurry forward in rows to peer at it.

“In order to reach the basement, we intend to ride out around the long way from Karanes to the east.” 

“As you might expect, this is an undertaking with no small cost.”  Erwin has no intention of concealing his vague displeasure at the thought.  “The four years previously spent lying down a route for a large army have gone to waste thus far.”

The Reclamation Operation. 

“In those four years, too, more than sixty percent of the Survey Corps lost their lives in combat.  Sixty percent in four years.  The figures are gruesome, indeed.”

The failures, countless, since Shadis’s self-determined termination.

“But I don’t intend to conceal the truth from any of you.”

In all of Erwin’s years since continuing down this life path as Commander, he never once spoke anything less than the truth to the young graduates who would join the Legion’s ranks.

Not until today.

 

“I will say this, too: any trainees who join will participate in this excursion beyond the Walls a month from the time they join our ranks.  We expect thirty percent of our scouts, veteran or just-enlisted, will not return.  In four years, many of you standing here may no longer be with us.”

The deafening silence is sudden enough that it bade Erwin a brief bout of hesitance.

“But—”

Never for longer than a moment, though.

“Those of you who survive this expedition a month from now will become superior soldiers.  You will no doubt continue to survive, too, as those among the Legion’s ranks inevitably have a much higher survival rate than any other soldier in the army.”

A loaded silence follows a most unnerving one.

Erwin’s eyes are closed, allowing the trainee graduates to reflect upon what they’ve just heard.

Only when they open again, at length, does the finality of his next words sink in.

“Knowing these discouraging facts, any and all still willing to risk their lives, remain standing here.”

“And,” Erwin’s voice remains steady, “to any who remain standing here after those who intend on joining other divisions have left, I ask only that you consider these three questions and these three questions alone.”

“If someone asked you to die on command, could you do it?”

(No one wants to die before their time is up.)

“If someone asked you to sacrifice yourself for the sake of Humanity whom you may never meet, would you do it?”

(No one wants to be taken by surprise.)

“Finally, if you had to make a choice knowing there were no right or wrong answers…would you still be able to stand by your decision?”

(But none of these young people are so ordinary.)

“…That is all.

Anyone who wishes to join another branch is dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

In place of the stunned silence, Hamilton speaks.

“Commander…d-don’t you think you scared them a little too much?  With a speech like that, all of them will—!”

Seemingly on cue, some of the soldiers begin to filter out and scatter away.

They scatter, like leaves to the wind’s inimical, unpredictable directions.

They scatter, like earthworms seeking the shelter of moist soil and foliage, safer locales than the open and boundless sky of stars that hangs overhead.

They continue to scatter, just like this.

They continue.

They continue.

They _continue_.

(Once the torchlights have all but burnt out – as they’re naught to do after so much time has passed waiting for so many to make up their minds – Erwin is no less deterred from finishing his speech in front of the thirty or so soldiers who remain standing before the stage platform grounded at his feet.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll ask again,” Erwin says, reverberation softer than he intends for it to emerge, “just to be sure.”

“If someone asked you to die on command, would you be able to do it?”

A face he knows lifts his chin – and shouts.

“No, sir,” Jean Kirschstein quakes, orotund voice shaking, “we don’t want to die!”

Erwin feels a vague smile touch the corners of his mouth before he can help it.

“And so you won’t, soldier.”

“If someone asked you to sacrifice yourself for the sake of Humanity,” Erwin asks then, watching several of their expressions shift and reform into something altogether determined, “would you be able to do it?”

Several more voices, several more faces, lift to face Erwin.

Connie Springer. 

Sasha Braus.

Christa Renz.

“Yes, sir!”

Erwin never expects their tearful voices to resonate with him, make _his_ chest tremble with something not unlike hope.

“Finally,” Erwin says at last, fighting back the tremulous anxiousness awakened by their reactions.

“If you had to make a choice knowing there were no right or wrong answers…would you still be able to stand by your decision?”

Even more soldiers than before.

Even more than ever before.

Their voices, rising, as one:

“ _Yes, sir!_ ”

(And Erwin smiles.)

“If these answers apply to how you feel, please stand before me—”

(Because, from here on out, these young men and women and all those in between deserve to be honored.)

“—and offer your hearts to the Scouting Legion!”

(Each and every one of them joins in the collective salute.)

”Conquering your fears, braving the elements to make it here…each and every one of you deserve nothing less than my heartfelt respect.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

(And so they have earned that much and more – because even in death, Erwin knows, the graduating class of 104th will be remembered.)


	51. the kids are alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here. 
> 
> Back again after the internship from hell swallowed the muses whole. 
> 
> For good.

One month.

Thirty days.

Thirty days – from the first dawn that touches the just-established living quarters of their new bastion to the ends of wherever their days would take them – to make this plan happen.

Thirty days – just as there were thirty graduate soldiers, eight of which graduated at the top of their class – to train and familiarize these new scouts with new fighting forms, new techniques to fight on horseback, and renew their battered faith in Humanity’s counterattack.

Thirty human hearts – thirty human beings – to earn the trust of in exactly thirty days.

 

* * *

 

 

Of those thirty, there are ten for whom Erwin has particularly high hopes.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Commander Erwin!”

His steps slow to a halt as soon as his official title sounds out.

From a more than recognizable tenor, at that.

“Eren,” Erwin pauses to smile, lightens to load on the boy’s too-tense shoulders. “Hard at work, I see, even on a day off from training.”

The brunet almost drops the mop he’s holding.

“’Course I am,” grins Eren, faltering at the tacked on, “sir.” Erwin means to reprimand him, but the one who wavers then is him when Eren offers in afterthought: “It’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

“I’m sure,” Erwin affirms, vague laugh punctuating his nod, “our Captain would agree with you on that.”

It’s around this point that Erwin notices Eren’s current state of dress.

“Speaking of which.” He takes in the boy’s cleaning uniform, the worn grooves of the wooden handle in one hand and a rusted metal bucket in the other. “I’m not keeping you from Levi’s orders to clean up the castle, am I?”

“Oh, no, I just…finished up, actually.” The way he says it should be indication enough. “But I think Captain Levi is—”

“—Looking for you, brat, because _you’re still holding my bucket_.”

This time, Eren does drop the mop.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Eren scrambles to pick up the mop – the bucket tipping and spilling a bit in the process – and then salutes, “s-sir!”

“Eren.” Mild irritation colors Levi’s voice as he waits for Eren’s fumbling and fussing to subside. “I told you not to waste time heading back to the supply room.”

“Commander Erwin,” Eren turns, suddenly, adding with more squeak than speech, “sorry for keeping you.”

Whether it’s the mystified look Erwin gives in response (why was Eren apologizing to him?) or the slight shift of Eren’s posture leaning toward him, Levi snaps into motion almost instantly.

Starting with a quick seize for his bucket.

Ending with a yank at Eren’s collar.

 _Like a dog_ , Erwin thinks, and his initial alarm over Levi’s rough handling leads into vague amusement when he hears:

“The least you could do is apologize to the right person.”

 _Like cats and dogs,_ Erwin shakes his head, watching Eren stumble for the supply closet after him.

“I said I was sorry, Captain!”

( _No,_ Erwin sees them, then, and realizes, _it’s a lot more like—_ )

“Don’t ‘Captain’ me. Just clean up the rest of this shit and yourself…and meet us in the mess hall at 17:00 sharp.”

Levi’s command is scathing.

“Us, sir?”

If Erwin didn’t know any better, he would think the visible sweat to Eren’s browline an impending crisis.

“Yes, _us_ , as in your two commanding officers standing right in front of you.” Levi grits his teeth and, when he takes the bucket from Eren’s hands, it’s surprise that spreads over Eren’s wondering face first. “Go. Get. Skedaddle. Wash that dumb look off your face along with the rest of you, brat. Knowing them, you’re probably keeping Ackerman and Arlert waiting, too.”

But _like father and son_ must have been the thought that startled a smile out of Eren.

Just as it did for Erwin.

“Roger that,” Eren chirps, darts off with a grin gleaming enough to put the newly-cleaned upper floors of the castle to shame. “And I’ll see you at 17:00, Commander Erwin, Captain Levi, sirs!”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’d think by now,” Levi grumbles, supplies dropping to the floor with him, “he’d know the difference between a direct order and an indirect one.”

“Well-versed in pragmatics or not,” Erwin rolls his sleeves up, bends down to help, though his nose wrinkles at the strong whiff of ammonia, “he’s a good soldier where it counts.”

“He’s not awful at cleaning,” shrugs Levi, offering Erwin a face mask, “at least.”

Erwin shakes his head.

But not out of refusal.

“Two more weeks and counting,” the Commander sighs. He’s found the scuff marks Levi’s pinpointed, shaping the washrag around cuticles for a closer scrub, as formation plans and forest-thick maps swim over his narrowed field of vision. “We’ll have our work cut out for us if they aren’t acclimated in time, not to mention trained in the ways of the—”

The gloves drop as unceremonious as his bucket and washrag.

A hand closes over his fist, cool and calloused.

“Erwin,” Levi says, thumb running across the length of his knuckles. “We have two weeks. Not two days. _Weeks_.”

“Two weeks in theory,” Erwin squeezes Levi’s hand back, still frowning. “That doesn’t count the day of rest we promised them if they finish their Riding practicals by the end of this week.”

“This batch doesn’t do too bad, given an incentive or two. They’ll make it happen.” _We’ll make it happen,_ the reassurance to Levi’s fleeting touch promises Erwin, even after the soft graze of his fingertips leaves as swift as it came. “I heard Kirschstein’s cleared three-fourths of the extended course already.”

The slosh of wet rags dropping back into the bucket bade them pause.

“You mean our resident ‘Horse Whisperer’?” It’s a contrasting note to the contented silence earlier. “I understand Springer, Braus, and Renz aren’t too far behind him…or so Arlert tells me.”

It takes little time at all for rumors to spread here in the Legion.

“Your little messenger bird?” It’s Levi’s turn to shake his head, soft smirk almost sardonic, as he and Erwin head for the supply closet. “Nice to know it’s not just the Walls that have ears, Commander.”

But Erwin doesn’t always catch wind of them as soon as he prefers.

“I prefer to call him a protégé-in-training,” soothes Erwin, light chuckle belied by the knowing look he shares with his Captain putting away the rest of the cleaning supplies. “There are plenty of other birds of flight among our ranks that hear far more than Arlert alone.”

They’re in the quietest hallway of the fortress.

They’re discussing matters, the Commander recognizes, of which anyone with ears could discern the nature.

But at the muffled scrape of the closet sealed shut, Levi turns at once, looks to the broadening shadow that covers him completely from view.

“For,” Levi’s mouth quirks, not quite leaning up to brush past the half-open corner of Erwin’s, “example?”

They have a little under an hour until the promised time for meeting up in the mess hall.

“Yes,” breathes Erwin, anxieties long forgotten to the auspicious pull of Levi’s fingertips coaxing him forward by the scruff of his neck. “Good. Very good example.”

“Erwin,” Levi says, nudges his bodies closer. “Are you seriously doing this right now—?”

“Best one yet, even.” He has to get his kicks in somewhere, somehow; it’s not as though Levi hasn’t, as Erwin recalls, done his fair share of teasing and leaving him high and dry wanting over the past few weeks of virtually no physical contact. “An excellent suggestion, Captain.”

“Erwin,” Levi huffs, reaching behind to reopen the closet door while kissing down the line of Erwin’s jaw, “seriously?”

“I’m sorry,” chimes Erwin, almost conversational, and – once he’s given a few quick glances around the empty corridor for prying eyes – Levi guides him by his gear belts through the space behind him before he’s pinned the smaller officer against the nearest wall. “Is there…anything I can help you with, Captain—?”

As it turns out, supply closets are terrible places for clandestine trysts like these.

“ **Erwin** ,” Levi buries his face into the warm path of skin he’s somehow uncovered, sucks an eager bruise over the taller man’s fluttering pulse where he surely must know will be visible. “If you don’t shut up in exactly three seconds, I swear, I’ll take those cleaning supplies from where I found them and—”

To his credit, Erwin’s surprised he could align their hips together and grind against Levi from this angle.

Particularly while they’re entwined like this in the dark.

“And?” He just barely manages above a teasing lilt, distracted by Levi’s clever fingers unbuttoning and unveiling more for his mouth to wrap around.

“—A-And I’ll mop the floor with you,” grouses Levi, frustration audible, “and your big ass.”

A vague snort of almost-laughter, in the absolute dimness of a place like this, reverberates much louder than Erwin expects.

“That makes it sound as though,” whispers Erwin, now that he’s learned the limits of this place, “you don’t appreciate having full jurisdiction to do whatever you’d like to my ass.”

The exhales flickering soft over patches of skin catch in a warm shudder of Erwin’s name.

“Now that,” Levi’s gaze is so bright when their foreheads brush that Erwin can’t possibly miss that gleam, let alone the challenge more than welcome in his eyes, “sounds like an order meant just for your favorite little bird of a Captain, _Commander._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes some placating praises.

A bit of creative maneuvering.

Near all the time they have left until Mike finds – and Zoë effectively interrupts – them, too.

But the Captain and his Commander no worse for the wear once 17:00 rolls around.

Levi, least of all, when they stumble out of that supply closet after their greatest ally and the tallest Squad Leader assures the coast is clear and Levi’s looking more reenergized and self-satisfied than Erwin’s seen him in a long time.

As for Erwin, whose hair refuses to fall back into place and whose elbow aches in ways he hadn’t even realized elbows could ache and has what likely would be Nanaba’s first ever treated case of splinters caused by floorboard-burn, he’s just as contented as Levi is.

If not more so.

 

(Yes, Erwin thinks with a smile that lasts and stirs speculation throughout the entire mess hall for the rest of the evening, more so after that well-executed idea than ever.)

 


	52. build a shelter for your kind, protect the ones you love

If he isn’t traveling from the Capital for bureaucratic obligations to the disquieting quiet of his living quarters, Erwin enjoys the hours he spends in his office.

Not for the administrative side of the job that shackles him to his desk, no, not at all.

That part he could do without.

But it’s the shift in time flowing stagnant when company drops in to visit that he looks forward to most.

 

* * *

 

 

“Come in,” Erwin tells them, preoccupied with paperwork or not.

He can figure out who it is, sometimes.

By their footfalls, whether it’s a rap, tap, or telltale whack that accompanies their entrance, the Commander has a certain knack for figuring out who is knocking.

When he doesn’t, that’s when he meets them at the door.

“Commander Erwin, sir!”

He’s surprised, this morning, by a visit from not one but two of the new recruits.

Sasha Braus, if he’s not mistaken, accompanied by Connie Springer.

“Squad Leader Mike just sent us from the training grounds.” It’s Springer who speaks, however, when the ponytailed lass remains thunderstruck silent. “To deliver a message. For you. Sir.”

Two scouts sent to deliver a single message?

“Come inside then,” Erwin ushers them forward. “From there, you’re welcome to discuss anything you have for me.”

From their restlessness as they follow him, though, keeping that thought to himself is likely for the best.

“Your place is **huge** ,” Braus exclaims, so casual and so sudden that Springer shoots her a frantic look. “T-That is, your office, sir! It’s, umm, quite the establishment. I mean—”

“I really ought to put up a sign outside one of these days.” It’s more insight than non sequitur. “‘Judge someone by their questions rather than their answers.’ That’s my philosophy toward every scout who walks through the door.”

Springer and Braus stop looking left and right to stare at Erwin instead.

“Does this mean I can ask a question after we’ve delivered your message, sir?” comes at the same time as “But what if the message isn’t a question or a request, sir?”

Springer slaps a hand over his own mouth to stifle a shriek.

Braus babbles out at least ten _sorry_ s before she sputters to a stop.

Erwin’s polite smile, as well as his composure, shatters.

“My answer is yes.” What replaces it – quiet laughter to offset the rebuke they’re expecting – surprises Erwin in its honesty. “To both your questions.”

They’re as surprised as he is to hear it.

“Mikey Mike told us to tell you he’s coming over for dinner,” reveals Braus. They look to each other now, grinning from ear to ear, but Erwin can’t bring himself to reproach her for using a nickname that only floats around the mess hall tables when she presses on. “He’s bringing his appetite, too, so plan accordingly, Commander.”

“Thank you, Braus.” After he’s said it, Erwin glances at the boy beside her with a hand resting light on her back and chuckles. “Though something tells me you should thank Springer for reminding you.”

Braus goes red.

No sooner than Springer does, anyway.

But they both nod, they leave the Commander’s office walking side by side more confident than before, and he’s surer still that this new batch of recruits is precisely what the Legion needs right now.

Answering questions and unquestionable answers alike.

 

* * *

 

 

Braus and Springer are not the last to stop by Erwin’s office.

He suspects Braus had something to do with the surge of visitors – and notes slipped under his door – but he wouldn’t even dream of approaching her on the matter.

As it were, his message relay system relies on Braus and Springer now.

Along with Reiner Braun and Bertholdt Hoover, another pair who wandered into his office one day and, somehow or another, came to offer their minds as well as their hearts.

“If Braus and Springer agree to it,” the Commander reasons, “then I have no objections. Have you asked them about the relay system as it is under their jurisdiction?”

“Not yet,” Braun answers, though he doesn’t have to look in Hoover’s direction to sense his agitation. “We figured we’d ask for your permission first, sir.”

“Like I said,” Erwin smiles, picturesque patience so sincere that even Hoover’s posture goes slack, “no need to seek out permission on my part. Still, you have my thanks.”

“No,” Hoover says, the loudest Erwin’s ever heard the scout. “Thank _you_ , sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

On their way out of his office to the mess hall, Braun and Hoover both thank him again.

At the time, Erwin doesn’t even stop to consider the reason why.

(But he was foolish and blind-sighted back then by luck that never seemed to run dry, thinking their goal – and their enemy – as only one.)

 

* * *

 

 

The only one to ever approach him directly was Ackerman.

She came to convey her concerns, apparently, for Eren Jaeger’s current residency under Captain Levi’s watch.

That’s what her diffident description of why she approached him on the matter told him, anyway.

“Your concerns are well-warranted,” Erwin offers in a wary appeal to pathos, “though I’m not sure how to convince you that Eren is in good hands.

“It’s not his hands I’m worried about,” rejoins Ackerman, a touch sardonic. “It’s that shor— Captain Levi’s temperament, sir…with all due respect.”

“And Eren’s?”

He doesn’t ask it to be accusatory. He means— well, what he says is what he means to say.

When as he opens his mouth to take the words back, though, the young woman answers him point-blank.

“I can’t say Eren doesn’t bring it upon himself.” If she’s chagrined by the confession at all, Ackerman doesn’t show it. “He…runs his mouth way more than he should sometimes.”

Mikasa Ackerman graduated at the top of her class.

“A real diamond in the rough,” according to Shadis.

Self-possessed from the moment she was given her gear and consistently the first to finish her drills during combat training.

On Shadis’s post-graduation notes included in her profile, Erwin recalls several postscripts toward the bottom of the form:

_Group social networking minimal._

_One-on-one interactions sparse._

_Will comply to orders more readily when situated around, near, or mentioned in the presence of one Eren Jaeger._

“If I told you that Eren reminds me of Levi when he was younger,” Erwin tells Ackerman, finished at last combing through his paperwork for the day, “would you be more inclined to leave Eren in his care?”

He’s about to regret his words until Ackerman suddenly smiles.

“Not really.” It’s a clumsy, hesitant sort of quirk that graces her stoic features. “But hearing that from you is reassuring, sir.”

“I can only imagine why,” quips Erwin, giving into the urge to grin himself, “when you were rather disinclined to earlier.”

“I never believed the stories,” Ackerman admits at length, “about Captain Levi's distaste for following orders...everyone's other than yours, anyway.”

 _And now?_ Erwin almost wants to ask, narrowly avoids opening his mouth to do so.

Just as Ackerman puts forth her final decree.

“Now I know why,” says Ackerman, fingers tracing patterns across the red scarf at her neck, “you’re the only one he follows.”

Commander Erwin thanks Ackerman, sincere without sentimentality, without betraying his usual façade.

It’s only after the door shuts and the younger soldier departs that Erwin allows a shift in his posture, a sigh to escape, a slump to his shoulders as he sits back down at his desk to consider what he’s heard.

What he’s heard from Ackerman, for one thing.

For another, just how sentimental he’s become to have felt his heart ache at the very mention of Levi’s loyalty to him.

To know that his loyalty to Levi was as valued to him as that scarf was to Ackerman.

One look at the rekindled resolve in her eyes, as it turned out, was all it took for him to know.

 

 


	53. try to understand, piece it together

Military communications were often convoluted within these closed-circuit spheres.

So corrupt were the channels of conversation among individual soldiers and squads, in fact, that Erwin tended to ignore them outright in years before.

He didn’t want, after all, to add any more to his growing list of concerns since taking on the Commandership.

 

* * *

 

 

Now, since this newest batch of recruits joined the Legion, Erwin _needed_ to know these things.

He needed to know if it was mere coincidence that the Colossal Titan appeared, that Eren Jaeger’s existence emerged, this year of all possible years.

He needed to know if it was mere coincidence that the murmurs of mutiny echo more than ever lately, more than they ever have in years previous.

He needed to know if it was mere premonition that made him suspicious of exactly three individuals among their young legionnaires.

Or, per the old saying, if there was indeed smoke that emerged at every fire’s arrival.

 

* * *

 

 

“—Which is why you need me to keep my ears and eyes open for outliers and report them directly to you, sir?”

The Commander nods, unfolded hands placed on cherrywood edges as he rises to his feet.

“Realizing I’m relying on you quite a bit,” September sunlight pours in, briefly, illuminates Erwin’s profile as he moves toward the soldier in front of his desk, “I’ll be counting on you, Arlert.”

There’s chagrin to the younger blond’s smile, something coy and almost cloying.

“You say that,” Arlert tips his head toward the highest shelf, “as if being able to use your personal library isn’t more than enough for me, Commander.”

“Well,” Erwin expects the answer he gets, expression softer in spite of it, “it’s the least I can provide for your assistance.”

So busy browsing the lower ledges for a new book to borrow, Arlert doesn’t respond at first.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” Erwin’s long abandoned his post for the windowsill to look out at the grounds, “why me?”

He almost misses Arlert’s question.

But, curiosity piqued by the wording, Erwin turns to him.

“Why?” Several seconds of digesting and divesting a reply later, he answers: “Simply put, your ties to Eren Jaeger are the strongest in the entire Legion.”

“Then you could have asked Mikasa,” Arlert points out, aware and logical as ever, “who speaks to fewer scouts than I do on a regular basis and would be the sort of person fewer still would suspect of subterfuge.”

That insight in and of itself shouldn’t elicit laughter.

Nor a tight smile that tempers the Commander’s features the instant it appears.

“There’s a way I’ve found,” Erwin tells him, “to determine a soldier’s ability to trust and be trusted.”

Arlert stares, fingers taut around the spine of the book he’s chosen.

“How they spend their free sparring hour during combat training,” continues Erwin, “is the ideal place to start.”

Arlert, for his part, should have no inkling of Erwin and Zoë’s frequent visits to the trainee base to observe them.

“What are the signs of someone who can be trusted, sir?”

Erwin, for his, has no doubts about Arlert’s ability to read between the lines.

“If they’ve barely spoken and yet are often joined by several individuals or huddled near a group…nine times out of ten, they’re a soldier who can be trusted.” Christa Renz. Connie Springer. Eren Jaeger.  “But they may not necessarily be a soldier you can trust.”

Surprising him, Arlert spins about face and strides over to join him at the windowsill.

“And if,” Arlert’s voice never wavers, “they’re the sort of soldier that trains alone by choice?”

From an aerial view, Erwin can see the entire grounds.

The training area, where dust trails lead down open paths, parting into fences assembled and grasslands untouched.

The blotted brushwood and towering trees, natural verandas meant for soldiers to take refuge and talk amongst themselves.

The faraway figures distinctive enough for Erwin to discern as his most trusted officers.

(He sees Mike sending soldiers to scatter and sprint from erected marker to marker while he follows after them, sees Nanaba challenging those who’ve reached the end of their 3DMG training to a race hosted by theirs truly.

He sees Zoë, dancing through an outdoor lecture on ‘emergency survival kits’ that, if separated from one’s squadron or not, could very well save their lives.

He sees Levi, leading those on horses back toward the stables, not a single rider out of line or straggling behind in their balanced formation.)

“If that’s the case,” Erwin says, stepping around his desk in the opposite direction as Arlert shuffles after him, questions still alight in those big blue eyes, “maybe I ought to head down there and determine that for myself.” **  
**


	54. holding on (and i can’t decide)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since canon doesn't explicitly state what Ymir's last name was, I went with Elivagar (Élivágar), the Norse mythological "ice rivers" where the 'giant' that shares her namesake is said to originate from :)

It’s the first time in a long time he’s done this.

Stopping by the training grounds unannounced, that is.

Before the new batch of recruits, the Commander made his presence known every other week. Sometimes once a month, if business in the Capital and elsewhere kept him away.

But time was paramount and – ever since their move into the new base – Erwin takes to dropping by for a visit every week now.

The difference, however, lies in how he lets his presence be known.

It’s a fascinating exercise in formality.

Face to face, one-on-one, interactions between a superior officer can be a strange balancing act.

In some cases, the recruits begin to let their guard down over time when he takes interest in them, their physical condition.

If he presents praise with a practiced smile, some more than others are receptive to conversation.

Some are not at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Erwin’s reminded of what Zoë once described as the crux of experimentation: repeated trials will never yield results unless the conditions are right.

It doesn’t need to be perfect, Erwin learns through investigation on his own.

But it **is** necessary.

 

* * *

 

 

The moment Zoë breaks in mid-reenactment, Mike and Nanaba herd several idle soldiers back to the group, and Levi follows Eren’s startled whiplash turn, Erwin sees the change in them.

He sees an immediate change in all of his legionnaires, lining up in impromptu rows, upon his arrival.

“Commander Erwin, sir!”

Salutes.

Salutations.

“At ease, soldiers.” Even Arlert, beside him, unstiffens. “I’m here only to observe today.”

 _Don’t let my presence deter you,_ Erwin tries to convey through his vague nod for Arlert to rejoin the rest while he sweeps past to stand next to Mike, _from your usual routines during training._

He certainly has no such intentions.

“Commander.”

The hesitant voice is not who he expects to join him beneath the stable awning.

“Is there something I can help you with,” Erwin’s focused stare on Kirschstein retracts, regards the scout who approached him instead, “Miss Renz?”

“Oh!” She looks alarmed, confused even. Erwin almost repeats himself before Renz stammers, “Oh, no, sir…I just finished my cool-down run for the day. So I’ve been instructed by the Captain to take a short break. After this, I’ll be off to find a partner to pull them through theirs.”    

His gaze flits from her lightly perspiring neckline to across the training field where Levi’s taken to critiquing a soldier he doesn’t recognize at first.

He notes their height.

The slouch in their stature.

Their complexion.

When Levi turns to leave, they turn toward where Erwin stands with Renz – and remembers the name of the recruit Nanaba had their eye on.

“Freckles,” he murmurs aloud.

Renz starts, stares up at him inquiringly.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Distracted, Erwin shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You’re waiting on Miss Elivagar, then?”

“I am.” Renz’s smile, lauded by her many admirers, is impossible to decipher. “Though I would have liked to have her for a partner, Squad Leader Nanaba insisted on ‘a change of pace’ today.”

“Curious.” Erwin knew for a fact none of his officers – not even Levi – had any idea he would stop by. “Not a single objection from either Squad Leaders or Captain, I presume?”

“Not even one.” Renz’s palm stifles her already quiet giggles. “Squad Leader Zacharias least of all.”

Clever girl, Erwin thinks, and bites back a laugh of his own.

“You’ve got quite the reputation yourself,” he remarks once Renz’s posture growing more relaxed. “Braus tells me if not with Elivagar, then you’re bound to be on your way to meet with her soon enough. Did the two of you know each other before enlistment?”

Renz blinks.

“Is there a reason why you’re—?”

“Elivagar,” Erwin doesn’t mean to interrupt, but the words slip out ahead of his better judgment, “is someone I’d like to know more about.”

Their earlier silence resumes.

If only for so long.

“I imagine here in the Legion,” Renz observes, the cloudless day slowly turning overcast as they speak, “not many scouts last long enough to keep secrets from one another, let alone from their commanding officers.”

That gives the Commander pause.

“Ymir,” her downturned eyes and mouth temper around their reminiscing corners, “isn’t someone I ever expected to be able to call a friend.”

A friend.

Somehow, Erwin muses, the fond way she speaks would have hinted otherwise.

“But,” Renz continues, “after three years of training together and after…everything that’s happened, I’m glad. That she decided to stay with me.”

No longer can Erwin sense self-depreciation in the smaller blonde’s cadence.

“Do you think she would have chosen a different path?” Something tugs at Erwin, then, a twinge that starts in his chest and resonates. “Had you not chosen the Legion, that is.”

It isn’t curiosity that compels him, now.

(Yanked by his collar, being shoved backfirst to the wall. Gritted teeth.

Taut trembling shoulders.)

It’s empathy.

( _“Because, five years ago, I made my choice._ ”)

He recalls the path leading back to the base, a fist pressed tight to the emblem at his breast pocket.)

“I chose the Legion,” Renz waves to Elivagar, slow saunter toward the veranda accompanied by a call for ‘Princess Christa,’ “and Ymir chose to walk the same path as me. She didn’t have to. I told her that countless times.”

( _But she did,_ Erwin wants to say.)

Just as Elivagar jogs over and pulls the petite girl in for a one-armed hug from behind.

“Hey.” Ymir Elivagar, the Commander recognizes now that she’s standing much closer, leans like a tower over Renz. “Big Scary Commander’s not giving you grief, is he?”

"Commander isn't the least bit 'scary,' Ymir—" emerges at the same time as "Miss Renz seems like she could bring down a man twice my size."

Both look so apologetic that Elivagar moves away and starts cackling.

“Relax,” chuckles Elivagar, so histrionic Erwin isn’t sure whether she’s talking to Renz or to him. “I’m not giving anybody a hard time, least of all your beloved Commander.”

It isn’t until she glances behind her that Erwin figures it out.

“You’ll have way more reasons to sleep with one eye open tonight,” Levi warns, “if you don’t get the rest of your drills done, Elivagar.”

It occurs to Erwin only after the day is done.

“And if I say any more drills in this heat,” Elivagar challenges, “would be a waste of my time and yours?”

He’s seen this happen before.

Renz clearly has, too, based on the way she stands poised and ready to move between them.

“Then,” Levi takes several paces backward, “let’s not waste any more time giving you a reason to stay focused.”

Elivagar looks at Levi – proper combat posture and all – and offers a sidelong look in Erwin’s direction.

No, Erwin realizes when he sees the way those bared teeth gleam, Elivagar isn’t looking at him.

She’s looking at Renz. For approval.

But by now, it isn’t only the Commander and Renz who are looking on at the scene unfolding.

The other scouts wander over in throngs.

Some stand vibrating with curiosity. Some only join the viewing parties.

The rest – if not all of them – seem to await the overseeing Commander’s intervention.

When the silent exchange of glances yields no visible change, the crowding scouts settle in a ring around them.

“As long as I’m entertained,” Elivagar lilts at last, readying her own stance to the scattered choruses of surprise, “you can have as much of my time as you’d like…Captain.”

* * *

 

 

As for the Commander, he has a hand clasped gentle at Renz’s taut shoulder and a wry smile as he thinks – knows – that Levi could take responsibility for his actions.

Here, then, and anywhere a soldier’s loyalty was brought into question.

 


	55. everybody's frightened by the radically enlightened

 

He’s holding back.

It’s been a long while since they sparred together, granted, but Erwin knows he isn’t mistaken.

All he has to do is watch Levi.

Sharp spin of pointed heels, whirling about face.

He dodges – a narrow miss – and she smirks.

Like she knows.

Levi’s motions are too heavy-footed, too refined today.

Too careful.

It’s not as though he has anything to fear, Erwin knows.

A light pull at his sleeve distracts him.

“Commander.” Hushed, Renz’s cadence is thin but ever-tactful. “Should I stop her?”

When a swerve and a backflip done with ease prompt all recruits eyes on their nimble Captain, Erwin leans over.

“Not yet,” he speaks softer, once her grip on his left arm abates. “If anything, you’ll know when.”

 

_Ymir Elivagar. 13 going on 14. Birthplace unknown._

_Tends to gravitate toward solitary behaviors. Solemn and serious when left to own devices / around most of the other trainees (see observations on Christa Renz for further detail) while crass and abrasive in group settings._

_Aside from Mikasa Ackerman and Annie Leonhardt, Elivagar’s musculature is perhaps the most developed of all in the trainee girls’ squad._

 

As he recalls, Zoë took notes on every one of the 104th trainees who caught her eye.

Or Levi’s.

Or Erwin’s.

Or Mike or Nanaba’s when, later, all the officers poured through their intent recruits’ profiles together.

Erwin, for his part, had his suspicions all along.

 

_Addendum:_

_Off the record, Elivagar’s musculature and athleticism seem to have developed significantly over the last three years._

_Almost…too well._

 

But Erwin’s learned to hold suspicion apart from proof that warrants action.

If only because the Legion cannot afford a mistake from him now.

A lapse in judgment being the greatest mistake of all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wait, Levi—”

He’s not struggling in this fight. Never in a fight.

Not Levi.

“Calling it a draw?” _Why_ goes unasked, though the sway to Levi’s movements gives Elivagar enough reason to hesitate.

“Not a draw. Think of it as a Commander’s right to postponement.” Then, right as Levi looks ready to argue, Erwin adds, “Let's give them a proper...demonstration of hand-to-hand combat as officers instead.”

It takes just short of seven seconds to win Levi’s approval.

Seven seconds of critical stares yielding to shrewd assent.

Seven seconds of peeling off his jacket (taken from him by a wide-eyed Renz) and loosening his bolo tie to pocket it.

Seven seconds – not a moment too soon – until his Captain’s demeanor changes.

“Okay, Erwin.” The murmurs of approval, astonishment, amazement start to ricochet when Levi removes his uniform and tosses it to Elivagar right behind him. “You’ve got my attention now. Any chance of you cluing me in on whatever ridiculous idea’s in that head of yours?”

Any good Commander ought to know the risk associated with revealing plans too soon.

“Provided you can put me on my back, pin me to the ground, and stand over me while asking that question again?”

There’s nothing but unspoken promise to the glint of a sparked challenge in Levi’s eyes on him.

“I can,” says Levi. As if Erwin would never be able to believe him.

As if Erwin has anything less than the utmost trust in that promise.

“Then…for you, my dear Captain?” There’s an underlying edge to Erwin’s voice. “Anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

Anything, Erwin thinks as Levi’s entire aura shifts into something much wilder than during his block-and-parry show with Elivagar, to pull his Captain – and their Judas – out of hiding.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the schedule he keeps, Erwin keeps up daily workout routines.

Paces around the grounds.

Sit-ups and pull-ups.

Stretches and flexibility training of all varieties.

And either late at night or early in the morning, if he can make it down to the training facilities they’ve set aside, he goes there too.

But apart from when Mike offers him the occasional wrestling match “for old time’s sake” or when his and Levi’s schedules align, he does these things between deskwork alone.

Alone though never afraid.

Here, Erwin is no more daunted by what emerges from his global awareness.

At least thirty pairs of eyes that know him and follow his every movement.

A growing hunch that the faraway voice cheering his name the loudest isn’t any of the trainees but Zoë.

All the appreciative exclamations for someone who is _as unpredictable as Captain Levi can be sometimes_ , who _definitely deserves the Commander title_ and _it’s not just his rank that’s huge._

Still, what lies in front of him warrants all the concentration he can give.

Or, rather, who moves around and about in front of him.

Levi’s always had a certain knack for this.

Withstanding direct blows, veering out of harm’s way, recovering with a swipe that grazes Erwin’s nose.

It’s counterintuitive for him. While he reels back, Erwin’s already thinking of the split-second decisions he’ll need to make.

How to dodge Levi’s next punch.

How to take down the agile younger man.

How to trip up someone sturdier than he appears.

But for Levi, it’s different.

For anyone smaller than Erwin, there are advantages they possess which even the Commander can’t counteract, let alone parry.

For Levi – smaller, lighter, far more experienced in back alley brawls and countermeasures unexpected – hand-to-hand combat is a familiar realm.

_Back and forth, back and forth…is it gonna come down to a draw or what?_

_C’mon, this is Captain Levi we’re talking about…if he gets serious, there’s no way he could lose!_

_Still, you’d think Commander Erwin would automatically have the upper hand, but…_

They shouldn’t be so surprised.

Erwin isn’t.

Not when he’s the one pushed flat on his back – it’s a miscalculation, a misstep, he convinces himself from the moment thereof until nightfall – and not the least bit discouraged by it.

 

* * *

 

 

The sky, when Erwin at last sees it looming overhead, shakes from the storm fast approaching.

“So.” Hovering over him, holding him down to weight and willingness withstanding, Levi’s breathless tone grapples the border of haughty. “What’s your next plan of action…Erwin?”

It’s a view from a new angle, one entirely unobscured by soldiers crowded about the training grounds.

“Nothing. Yet.”

He has Levi to thank for that.

But he has the recruits gathered here – scattered shuffling and shouting and gasps, distant to his senses dulled from the impact of his fall – to thank for their spectacular response.

They were a fortunate audience today as well.

Fortunate to see their austere Captain prove his physical prowess.

Fortunate to see their Commander react accordingly to the coup de tête that left him reeling.

Fortunate, too, for the rain’s descent that made Levi start and turn the tables in Erwin’s favor.

“ _Shit_ —”

Even before the light drizzle escalates into a downpour, Erwin has Levi pinned.

Cursing his way down to land ace-first to the mud.

“Easy there,” Erwin laughs, not at their captivated audience ducking for the cover beneath the nearby storage shed’s overhanging roofs but how Levi picks his head up and scowls. “We’re giving these soldiers a show, if I remember correctly. Nothing to get in a rut about.”

He realizes too late how soon he’s misspoken.

They both hit the ground, this time, wrestling for the winning position without any intention of giving into one another, before he’s cognizant of how Levi tripped him to half-kneeling stance.

At first, it’s Erwin who tips over and writhes and tries to twist free of the mire slipping from his hands.

It’s Erwin who struggles for traction and the solid muscle mass of Levi’s legs immobilizing him from the waist down.

Except the sodden hair sticks to his temples, the strange heat that ignites when he follows Levi’s gaze drifting from his rain-laden lashes to the wet fabric that clings to his heaving chest to the dirt and grit spattered across the dip of his stomach leading down to where his gear belts cross over his—

 **Oh**.

Perhaps, Erwin thinks, he’s not at a disadvantage here after all.

“Levi.” There’s a hand curled around his bicep, gripping so tight Erwin’s certain it’ll leave a mark. “This isn’t the time or place.”

If he means to convince anyone, he’ll have to try harder than that.

“Considering where we are right now?” Levi shifts, slides and leans over him, until his mouth hovers over the dripping incline of his left cheekbone, “I’m still expecting you to finish what you’ve started, _Commander._ ”

Anyone who was still watching them closely enough wouldn’t have noticed it when Erwin flips Levi over.

In this sudden role reversal, neither weather nor experience nor rank – nor circumstance – plays a part.

Then again, neither does the way Levi all but trembles when Erwin whispers to _save that level of eagerness when you come by to see me tonight and I’ll gladly lie down for you, however and as much as you’d like_.

It’s a nice consolation prize, though, if nothing else.

 

* * *

 

 

(“You were having way too much fun,” Nanaba observes, long after the rain’s stopped and Zoë and Hange begin herding the scouts back to the main base. “Even if it would’ve killed the mood, I would’ve totally jumped in there with you guys if I could’ve.”

“What was holding you back?” Erwin takes the towel from them, handing off his ruined uniform shirt to Mike’s outstretched hands.

There’s a telltale quirk to Nanaba’s lips, a quiet secret to their light titter.

Which makes Erwin wonder if he’s missed something from the way Mike smirks at the same time as they do.

“Same reason you hadn’t torn our cute little Levi’s clothes off,” Nanaba practically sings, nudging Erwin out into the sunshine to dry off. “Too many kids watching.”)

 


End file.
